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Jt Vol. 6, No. 321. Dec. 21, 1883. Annual Sabacrlptlon. <||^i 




^/ / 



WOLFERT'S 

ST. 




WASHINGTON IRVING. 



red at the Post Office, N, Y .. aa second-class matter. ^ 








^ 
« 



^^^i^af<^^^>;/^fL^»^%^^'S»j»*» 



t » « « » I I II. 



......j..u« .i.i<s. IBi^. 



,OVELL'S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 



1 


. Hyperion, Longfellow 


.20 


61. 




. UiUre-AJer, do 


.'20 






. The llap,\v Doy, BjOrn 




(52. 




son 


.10 




1 


. Arno, by BjOrusou ... 


.10 


03. 




. Fraukensteiu, Shelley. 


.10 


64. 




. Last of the Mohicans. 


.yo 




■; 


Clytie, Joseph Hattoa. 


.90 


65. 




. The Aioonetone, Part I 


.10 


66. 




The Moonstone, Part IJ 


.10 






Oliver Tsvist, Dickeus. 


.w 


tJ7. 


: 1 


Coniins: Race, Lytton. 


.10 




V: 


Leila, by Lord Lytton. 


.10 


68. 


i;; 


'J'he Three Hpauiards.. 


.'20 


69. 


; 


The Tricks of the 




70. 




Greeks Unveiled .... 


.20 


71. 


r, 


L'Aboe Coustanrin. .. 


.'20 


72. 




Freckles, ny Kedcliff. 


.ao 


73. 


!■' 


The Dark Colleen, Jay 


.20 


74. 


is 


They were Married!.. 


.10 


Vo. 


; , 


Seekers after God 


.20 


76. 


'.'' r 


The^ypanifihNuu. ... 


.10 


77. 


"i 


Green Mountain Boys 


.20 


78. 




Fl'jurette. Scribe 


.20 


V9. 


'!> 


Second Thoughts 


.20 




•^4 


The New Magdalen. . . 


.20 


80. 


;:;, 


Divorce, Margaret Lee 


.20 




:j 


Life of Washington.. . 


.20 


81. 


,•,'• 


Social Etiquette 


.15 


82. 


•:6 


Single Heart and Dou- 




8J. 




ble Face, Chas. Reade 


.10 




??0 


Irene, by Carl Dctlef.. 


.20 


84. 


i>Ai 


Vice Versa, P. Anstey 


.20 




.'il 


Krnest Maltravers 


.2() 


85. 


;]■> 


T;ie Haunted FTouj^e. 


.10 


86. 


m 


John Halifax, Mulock 


.20 


87. 


Hi 


800 Leagues on the 




88. 




Amazon, by Verne.. 


.10 


8:). 


m 


The Cryptogram .. 


.10 


90. 


Wi. 


Life of Marion 


.20 


91. 




Paul and Virginia 


.10 




;-<K. 


Tale of Two Cities.... 


.20 


92. 


.%. 


The Hermits, Kingsley 


.20 


93. 


-i.j. 


An Adventure in 
Thule, and Marriage 




94. 




of M. Fergus, Black. 


.10 


95. 


41. 


Marriage in High Life. 


,20 




■l'-.'. 


]lobin, by Mrs. Parr.. 


.20 


96. 


43. 


Two on a Tower 


.20 


97. 


41. 


Rasselas, Dr. Johnson 


.10 


98. 


45. 


Alice; or. Mysteries.. 


.20 


99. 


4H 


Duke of Kandos 


.20 
.10 


100 


47. 


Baron Munchausen. . . 




4'^. 


A Princess of Thule... 


.20 


101. 


4'.). 


The Secret Despatch. . 
Early Days of Chris- 


,20 


102. 


rx^. 








tianity 


.20 


las. 




Do., Part II ., 


.20 


104. 


51. 


Vicar of Wakefield... 


.10 


105. 


r,2. 


Progress and Poverty. 


.20 


106. 


r/i 


The Spy, by Cooper.. 
East Lyune, Mrs Wood 


.20 




M. 


.20 


107. 


55. 


A Strauge Story.. .. 


.20 




50. 


Adam Bede,Eliot,P't I 


.15 


108. 




Do , Part II 


.15 


109, 


57. 


The Golden Shaft 


.20 


110. 


58. 


Portia, by The Duchess 


.20 


111. 


59. 


tiast Days of Pompeii, 


.20 


112. 


60. 


The Two Duchesses... 


.20 





Tom Brown's School 

Days 20 

The V, ooing O't, P.t I .15 

The Wooing O't, P't II .15 

TheVendeta. Balzac. .20 

I. Ilypatia, by Kingsley, .15 

Do., Paitll 15 

, Selma, by Mrs. Smith. .15 
. Margaret and her 

Bridesmaids 20 

. Horse Shoe Robinson .15 

Do., Partll 15 

. Gulliver's Travels 20 

. Amos Barton, by Eliot .10 
. The Berber, by Mayo , .20 
. Silas Mamer, by Eliot .10 
. Queen of the County. . 20 
. Life of Cromwell, Hood. 15 
. Jane Eyre, by Bront6. .20 
. Child's Hist. England. .20 
. Molly Bawn, Duchess .20 
. Pillona, by Bergs(3e... .15 
. Phyllis, The Duchess. .20 
.Romola, Eliot, Par: I. .1.5 
Romola, Eliot, Part II .15 
Science in Short Chap- 
ters 20 

Zanoni, by Lytton 20 

A Daughter of Heth... .20 
The Right and Wrong 

Uses of the Bible..,. ,90 
Night and Mor-.ing. . . .15 

Do., Part II 15 

Shandon Bells, Black. .20 
Monica, The Duchess. .10 

Heart and Science 20 

Tae Golden Calf 20 

, The Dean's Daughter. .20 
Mrs. GeofErey,Duche8« .20 
Pickwick Papers, PtI .30 

Do., Part II 20 

Airy, Fairy Lilian 20 

Macleod of Dare 20 

Tempest Tossod 20 

Do., Part II 20 

Letters from High Lat- 
itudes, Earl Dufierin .20 

Gideon Fleyce 20 

India and Ceylon 20 

The Gypsy Queen, 20 

The Admiral's Ward. . .20 
Nimport, Bynner,P'tI .15 

Nimport, P'art II 15 

Harry Holbrooke 20 

Tritons, Bynner,P'tI. .15 

Tritons, Part 11 15 

Let Noth'g You Dismay . 10 
Lady Audley's Secret. 20 
Woman's Place To-day .20 
Dunallan, by Kennedy .16 

Do., Part II.... 15 

Housekeeping and 

Horaemaking 15 

No New Thing, Norris .20 
Spoopendyke Papers. .20 

False Hopes 15 

Labor and Capital 20 

Wanda, Ouida, Part I. .15 
Wanda. Part IT 15 



118. More Words about 
the Bible 

114. Monsieur Lecoq, Pt 1 
Monsieur Lecoq, PtD 

115. Outline of Irish Hi,-t. 

116. The Lerouge Case 

117. PauICIifTonl. Lviion. 

118. A 

119. iJ 
1.20. U, 

321. The Lady" 01 Ljuus, 

122. Ameline du Bourg... 

123. A Sea Queen, R-'^8t;lI. 

124. The Ladies Lii 

125. Haunted Hea, 

126. Loi'S, Lord P 

127. Under T 
Do. (On 

l?Jl Money 
129. In Peri. 
iuO. India; 
Teach i 

131. Jets and FJa^he-:.. 

132. Moonshine and Xtl 

f:uerite6 
r. Scarboi 

Family 

Do., Part II. 



l-'?4. A- 
135. T. 
136. 
1.37. 



\ 

Crih'l I 

138. The Gil'. 

139. Pike (5 

140. Ci: 

141. II 

142. Sii 

a rUiieion . 

143. Denis Duval, Thack- 

eray . 

144. Old Cnriosity Shop 
Do., Part II 

145. Ivanhoc, Scott, P't I. 
Ti> ■ ' 

146. V. 

147. Tl 

148. Ca: y 
14^). J;. 

150. B.i, I I 
Barnaoy ituuijo I'l if 

151. Felix Holt, bj^ Kl\o. . . 
lo2. Richelieu, by Ljiton 

153. Sunrise, Black, P'tl. 
Do, Part II 

154. Tour of the World in 

Eighty Days, Verne 

155. Mystery of Orcfval . . . 

156. Lovel, the Widower . 
15T. Romantic Adv- ' 

of aMilkmaic' 
158. David Coppeii; 
Do. Part II 



159. Charlotte Temple.. 

160. Rienzi, Lytton, Par- 
Do.. Pare It 

161. Promise of Marriage. 

162. Faith and Unfaith. . 

163. The Ha^jpy Man 

164. Barry Lyndon 



S^-z 




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BU< MATV'S CARBOSilC MEBICINAI* SOAP cures all 
Ernpti'jus and ykin Diseases. 




; QECRET 

9|-^f^& ♦^ OF 

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Price, 75c, per Bottle. Depot, 83 John St., N. Y. 



LOVELL'S LIBRARY, 



AHEAD OF ALL COMPETITORS. 



The improvements being constantly made in ''Lovell's 
Library " have placed it in the Front Rank of cheap publi- 
cations in this country. The publishers propose to still 
further improve the series by having 

B£TT£R PAPER, 

BETTER PRINTING, 

LARGER TYPE, 

and more attractive cover than any other series in the market. 



SEE ■^i^Sm.A.T IS S-A.I3D OF IT: 

The following extract from a letter recently received 
shows the appreciation in which the Library is held by those 
who most constantly read it: 

'* Mercantile Library, } 
"Baliimore. August 29, 1883. f 
** Will you kindly send me two copies of your latest list ? I am 
glad to see that you now issue a volume every day. Your Library we 
find greatly preferable to the 'Seaside ' and ' Franklin Square ' Series, 
and even better than the ISmo. form of the latter, the page being of 
better shape, the lines better leaded, and the words better spaced. 
Altogether your series is much more in fav^r with our subscribers than 
either of its rivals. 

*'S. C. DONALDSO:^, Assistant Librarian.'' 



JOHN W. LOVELIi tlO., Publishers, 

14 &; le "Vesey Street, 3^T©"w• 'STorlt. 



WOLFEET'S EOOST, 



AND 



MISCELLANIES. 



BY 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 



NEW YORK: 
JOHN W. LOVELL, COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street. 



V 



~,%^ 



WOLFERT'S ROOST 



AND 



MISCELLANIES, 



A CHEONICLE OF WOLFERT'S ROOST. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir : I have observed that as a man advances in life, he ia 
subject to a kind of plethora of the mind, doubtless occasioned 
]jy the vast accumulation of vv^sdom and experience upon the 
brain. Hence he is apt to become narrative and admonitory, that 
is to say, fond of telhng long stories, and of dohng out advice, to 
the small profit and great annoyance of his friends. As I have, 
a great horror of becoming the oracle, or, more technically speak-* 
ing, the " bore," of the domestic circle, and would much rather* 
bestow my wisdom and. tediousness upon the world at large, X 
have always sought to ease off this surcharge of the intellect 
by means of my pen, and hence have inflicted divers gossiping 
volumes upon the patience of the public. I am tired, however, 
of writing volumes; they do not afford exactly the relief I re-, 
quire; there is too much preparation, arrangement, and parade, 
in this set form of coming before the public. I am growing too 
indolent and unambitious for any thing that requires labor or 
display. I have thought, therefore, of securing to myself a 
snug corner in some periodical work w^here I might, as it were, 
loll at my ease in my elbow-chair, and chat sociably with the 
public, as with an old friend, on any chance subject that might 
l)op into my brain. 

In looking around, for tliis purpose, upon the various excel- 
lent periodicals with which our country abounds, my eye was 
struck by the title of your work— " The Knickerbocker." My 
lieart leaped at the ;rir;ht. 



G W0LFERT8 BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

DiEDRiCH Knickerbocker, Sir, was one of my earliest and 
most valued friends, and the recollection of him is associated 
with some of the pleasantest scenes of my youthful days. 
To explain this, and to show how I came into possession of 
foundry of his posthumous works, which I have from time to 
time given to the world, permit me to relate a few particulars 
of our early mtercourse. I give them with the more confi- 
dence, as I know the interest you take in that departed worthy, 
whose name and effigy are stamped upon your title-page, and 
as they will be found important to the better understanding and 
rehshing divers communications I may have to make to you. 

My first acquaintance with that great and good man, for 
such I may venture to call him, now that the lapse of some 
thirty years has shrouded his name with venerable antiquity, 
and the popular voice has elevated him to the rank of the 
classic historians of yore, my first acquaintance with him was 
formed on the banks of the Hudson, not far from the wizard 
region of Sleepy Hollow. He had come there in the course of 
his researches among the Dutch neighborhoods' for materials 
for his hnmortal history. For this purpose, he was ransacking 
the archives of one of the most ancient and historical man- 
sions in the country. It was a lowly edifice, built in the time 
of the Dutch dynasty, and stood on a green bank, over- 
shadowed by trees, from which it peeped forth upon the Great 
Tappan Zee, so famous among early Dutch navigatoi's. A 
bright pure spring welled up at the foot of the green bank ; a 
wild brook came babbling down a neighboring ravine, and 
threw itself into a little woody cove, in front of the mansion. It 
was indeed as quiet and sheltered a nook as the heart of man 
could require, in which to take refuge from the cares and 
troubles of the world ; and as such, it had been chosen in old 
times, by Wolf ert Acker, one of the privy councillors of the re- 
nowned Peter Stuyvesant. 

This worthy but ill-starred man had led a weary and worried 
life, throughout the stormy reign of the chivalric Peter, being 
one of those unlucky wights with whom the world is ever at 
variance, and who are kept in a continual fume and fret, by the 
wickedness of mankind. At the time of the subjugation of 
the province by the English, he retired hither in high dudgeon ; 
with the bitter determination to bury himgelf from the world, 
and Hve here in peace and quietness for the remainder of his 
days. In token of this fixed resolution, he inscribed over his 
door the . f avvorite Dutch motto, "Lust in T^ust," (pleasure in 



A CBROmCLE OF WOLFERTS ROOST. 7 

repose.) The mansion was thence called *' Wolf ert's Rust "-^ 
Wolfert's Rest ; but in process of ti:»ae, the name was vitiated 
into Wolfert's Roost, probably from its quaint cock-loft look, 
or from its having a weather-cock perched on every gable. 
Tills name it continued to bear, long after the unlucky Woifert 
vras driven forth once more upon a wrangling woild, by the 
tongue of a termagant wife; for it passed into a. proverb 
through the neighborhood, and has been handed dovv-n by tra- 
dition, tliat the cock of the Roost was the most hen-pecked bird 
:.n the country. 

This primitive and historical mansion has since passed 
through many changes and trials, which it may be my lot 
hereafter to notice. At the time of the sojourn of Dicdrich 
Knickerbocker it was in poss»!;ssion of the gallant family of the 
Van Tassels, who have figured so conspicuously in his writings. 
What appears to have given it pecuhar value, in his eyes, was 
the rich treasury of historical facts here secretly hoarded up, 
like buried gold ; for it is said that Woifert Acker, when he re- 
treated from New Amsterdam, carried off with him many of 
the records and journals of the province, pertaining to the 
Dutch dynasty ; swearing that they should never fall into the 
hands of the Enghsh. These, like the lost books of Livy, had 
baffled the research of former historians ; but these did I find 
the indefatigable Diedrich diligently deciphering. Ke was 
already a sage in yes'.rs and experience, I but an idle stripling ; 
yet he did not despise my youth and ignorance, but took me 
kindly by the hand, and led me gently into those paths of local 
and traditional lore wliich he was so fond of exploring. I sat 
with him in his little chamber at the Roost, and watched the 
antiquarian patience and perseverance with which he deciphered 
those venerable Dutch documents, worse than Herculanean 
manuscripts. I eat with him by the spring, at the foot of the 
green bank, and hstened to his heroic tales about the wor- 
thies of the olden time, the paladins of New Amsterdam. I 
accompanied him in his legendary researches about Tarrytown 
and Sing-Sing, and explored with him the spell-bound recesses 
of Sleepy Hollow, I was present at many of his conferences 
with the good old Dutch burghers and their wives, from whom 
he derived many of those marvellous facts not laid do\^Ti in 
books or records, and which give such superior value and 
authenticity to his history, over all others that have been writ- 
ten concerning the New Netherlands. 

But let me check my proneness to dilate upon this f avorito 



8 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

theme ; I may recur to it hereafter. Suffice it to say, the inti- 
macy thus formed, continued for a considerable tune ; and in 
company with the worthy Diedrich, I visited many of the 
places celebrated by his pen. The currents of our Mves at 
length diverged. He remained at home to complete his mighty 
work, while a vagrant fancy led me to wander about the world. 
Many, many years elapsed, belore I returned to the parent soil. 
In the interim, the venerable historian of the New Netherlands 
had been gathered to his fathers, but his name had risen to 
renown. His native city, that city in which he so much 
delighted, had decreed all manner of costly honors to his 
memory. I found his effigy imprinted upon new-year cakes, 
and devoured with eager relish by holiday urchins; a great 
oyster-house bore the name of "Knickerbocker Hall;" and I 
narrowly escaped the pleasure of being run over by a Knicker- 
bocker omnibus ! 

Proud of having associated with a man who had achieved 
such greatness, I now recalled our early intimacy with tenfold 
pleasure, and sought to revisit the scenes we had trodden to- 
gether. The most important of these was the mansion of the 
Van Tassels, the Roost of the mifortunate Wolfert. Time, 
which changes all tilings, is but slow in its operations upon a 
Dutchman's dwelling. I found the venerable and quaint little 
edihce much as I had seen it during the sojourn of Diedrich. 
Tliere stood his elbow-chair in the comer of the room he had 
occupied; the old-fashioned Dutch writing-desk at which he 
had pored over the chronicles of the Manhattoes ; there Avas 
the old wooden chest, with the archives left by Wolfert Acker, 
many of which, however, had been fired off as waddmg from 
the long duck gim of the Van Tassels. The scene around the 
mansion was still the same ; the green bank ; the spring beside 
which I had listened to the legendary narratives of the histo- 
rian ; the wild brook babbhng down to the woody cove, and the 
overshadowing locust trees, half shutting out the prospect of 
the great Tappan Zee. 

As I looked round upon the scene, my heart yearned at the 
recollection of my departed friend, and I wistfully eyed the 
mansion which he had inhabited, and which was fast moulder- 
ing to decay. The thought struck me to arrest the desolating 
hand of Time ; to rescue the historic pile from utter ruin, and 
to make it the closing scene of my wanderings ; a quid} home, 
where I might enjoy "lust in rust" for the remainder of my 
days. It is true, the fate of the unlucky Wolfert passed across 



A CnRONICLE OF WOLFEUTS ROOST. 9 

my mind ; but I consoled myself -svith the reflection that I was 
a bachelor, and that I had no termagant wife to dispute the 
sovereignty of the Roost with me. 

I have become possessor of the Roost ! I have repaired and 
renovated it with religions care, in the genuine Dutch style, 
and have adorned and illustrated it with simdry reliques of the 
glorious days of the New Netherlands. A venerable weather- 
cock, of portly Dutch dimensions, which once battled with the 
wind on the top of the Stadt-House of New Amsterdam, in the 
time of Peler Stuyvesant, now erects its crest on the gable end 
of my edifice ; a gilded horse in full gallop, once the weather- 
cock of the gi'cat Vander Hoyden Palace of Albany, now glit- 
ters in the sunsliine, and veers with every breeze, on the peaked 
turret over my i^ortal ; my sanctum sanctorum is the chamber 
once honored by the illustrious Diedrich, and it is from his 
elbow-chair, and his identical old Dutch writmg-desk, that I 
pen this rambling epistle. 

Here, then, have I set up my rest, surrounded by the recol- 
lections ci early days, and the mementoes of the historian of 
the ilanliattoes, with that glorious river before me, which 
flows Y/ith such majesty through his works, and which has 
ever beem to me a river of delight. 

I thank God I was born on the banks of the Hudson! I 
think it -an invaluable advantage to be born and brought up in 
the neighborhood of some grand and n»oble object in nature; a 
river, a lake, or a mountain. We make a friendship with it, 
we in a manner ally ourselves to it for life. It remains an 
object of our pride and affections, a rallying point, to call us 
home again after all our wanderings. " The things which we 
have learned in our childhood," says an old writer, " grow up 
with our souls, and unite themselves to it." So it is with the 
scenes among which we have passed our early days ; they in- 
fluence the whole course c£ our thoughts and feelings ; and I 
fancy I can trace much of what is good and pleasant in my 
ovvm > eterogeneous compound to my early companionship with 
this glorious river. In the warmth of my youthful enthusiasm, 
I used to clothe it with moral attributes, and almost to give it a 
soul. I admired its frank, bold, honest character; its noble 
sincerity and perfect truth. Here was no specious, smiling 
surface, covering the dangerous sand-bar or perfidious rock; 
but a stream deep as it was broad, and bearing with honorable 
faith the bark that trusted to its waves. I gloried in its simple, 
quiot, majestic, epic flow; over straight forwai'd. Once, in- 



10 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

deed, it turns aside for a moment, forced from its course by 
opposing mountains, but it struggles bravely through them, 
and immediately resumes its straightforward march. Behold, 
thought I, an emblem of a good man's course through life; 
ever simple, open, and direct; or if, overpowered by adverse 
circumstances, he deviate into error, it is but momentary ; he 
soon recovers his on^vard and honorable career, and continues 
it to the end of his pilgrimage. 

Excuse this rhapsody, into wliich I have been betrayed by a 
revival oi early feelings. The Hudson is, in a manner, my first 
and last love ; and after all my wanderings and seeming infi- 
dehties, I return to it with a heart-felt preference over all the 
other rivers in the world. I seem to catch new life as I bathe 
in its ample billows and inhale the yuxQ breezes of its hills. It 
is time, the rom^xice of youth is past, that once spread illusions 
over every scene. I can no longer picture an Arcadia in every 
green valley; nor a fairyland among the distant mountains; 
nor a peerless beauty in every villa gleaming among the trees ; 
but though the illusions of youth have faded from the land- 
scape, the recollections of departed years and departed pleas- 
ures shed over it the mellow charm of evening sunshine. 

Permit me, then, Mr. Editor, through the medium of your 
work, to hold occasional discourse from my retreat ^\ith the 
busy world I have abandoned. I have much to say about wiiat 
I have seen, heard, felt, and thought through the course of a 
varied and rambling life, and some lucubrations that have long 
been encumbering my portfolio; together with divers remi- 
niscences of the venerable histoi'iati of the New Netherlands, 
that may not be unacceptable to those who have taken an 
interest in his writings, and are desirous of any thing that may 
cast a light back upon our early history. Let your readers 
rest assured of one thing, that, though retired from the world, 
I am not disgusted with it ; and that if in my communings 
with it I do not prove very wise, I trust I shall at least prove 
very good-natured. 

Which is all at present, from 

Yours, etc., 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Worthy Sir: In a preceding communication, I have given 
you some brief notice of Wolf ert's Roost, the mansion where I 



A CHRONICLE OF WOLFEBTS ROOST. H 

first had the good fortune to become acquainted with the ven- 
erable historian of the New Netherlands. As this ancient edi- 
fice is hkely to be the place whence I shall date many of my 
lucubrations, and as it is really a very remarkable little pile, 
intimately connected with all the great epochs of our local and 
national history, I have thought it but right to give some 
farther particulars concerning it. Fortunately, in rummaging 
a ponderous Dutch chest of drawers, which serves as the 
archives of the Roost, and in which are preserved many 
inedited manuscripts of Mr. Knickerbocker, together with the 
precious records of New- Amsterdam, brought hither by Wolf ert 
Acker at the downfall of the Dutch dynasty, as has been 
already mentioned, I found in one corner, among dried pump- 
kin-seeds, bunches of thyme, and pennyroyal, and crumbs of 
new-year cakes, a manuscript, carefully wrapped up in the 
fragment of an old parchment deed, but much blotted, and the 
ink grown foxy by time, which, on inspection, I discovered to 
be a faithful chronicle of the Roost. The hand-writing, and 
certain internal evidences, leave no doubt in my mind, that it 
is a genuine production of the venerable historian of the New- 
Netherlands, written, very probably, during his residence at 
the Roost, in gi^atitude for the hospitality of its proprietor. 
As such, I submit it for publication. As the entire chronicle is 
too long for the pages of your Magazine, and as it contains 
many minute particulars, which inight prove tedious to the 
general reader, I have abbreviated and occasionally omitted 
some of its details ; but may hereafter furnish them separately, 
should they seem to be required by the curiosity of an enlight- 
ened and document-hunting public. 

Respectfully yours, 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



A CHRONICLE OF WOLFERT'S ROOST. 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKER- 
BOCKER. 

About five-and-twenty miles from the ancient and renowned 
city of Manhattan, formerly called New- Amsterdam, and vul- 
garly called New- York, on the eastern bank of that expansion 
of the Hudson, known among Dutch mariners of yore, as the 



12 WOLFEUrS BOOST AM) MISCELLANIES. 

Tappan Zee, being in fact the great Mediterranean Sea of the 
NeAv-Netherlands, stands a little old-fashioned stone mansion, 
all made up of gable-ends, and as full of anglei and comers as 
an old cocked hat. Though but of small dimensions, yet, like 
many small people, it is of mighty spmt, and values itself 
gi-eatiy on its antiquity, being one of the oldest edifices, for its 
size, in the whole country. It claims to be an ancient seat of 
empire, I may rather say an empire in itself, and hke all em- 
pires, great and small, has had its grand historical epochs: In 
speaking of this doughty and valorous little pile, I shall call it 
by its usual appellation of " The Roost;" though that is a name 
given to it in modern days, since it became the abode of the 
wliite man. 

Its origin, in truth, dates far back in that remote region com- 
monly called the fabulous age, in which vulgar fact becomes 
mystified, and tinted up with delectable fiction. The eastern 
shore of the Tappan Sea was inhabited in those days by an 
unsophisticated race, existing in all the simplicity of nature ; 
that is to say, they lived by hunting and fishing, and recreated 
themselves occasionally with a httle tomahawking and scalp- 
ing. Each stream that floAvs down from the hills into the 
Hudson, had its petty sachem, who ruled over a hand's-breadth 
of forest on either side, and had his seat of government at its 
mouth. The chieftain who ruled at the Roost, was not merely 
a great warrior, but a medicine-man, or prophet, or conjurer, 
for they all mean the same thing, in Indian parlance. Of his 
fighting propensities, evidences still remain, in various arrow- 
heads of fiint, and stone battle-axes, occasionally digged up 
about the Roost : of his wizard powers, we have a token in a 
spring which weUs up at the foot of the bank, on the very 
margin of the river, which, it is said, was gifted by him with 
rejuvenating powers, something like the renowned Foimtain of 
Youth in the Floridas, so anxiously but vainly sought after by 
the veteran Ponce de Leon. This story, however^ is stoutly 
contradicted by an old Dutch matter-of-fact tradition, which 
declares that the spring in question was smuggled over from 
HoUand in a churn, by Femmetie Van Slocum, wife of Goosen 
Garret Van Slocum, one of the first settlers, and that she took 
it up by night, unknown to her husband, from beside their 
farm-house near Rotterdam; being sure she should find no 
water equal to it in the new country— and she was right. 

The wizard sachem had a great passion for discussing terri- 
torial questions, and settling boundary lines ; this kept him in 



A GBBONIGLE OF WOLFERTS BOOST. 13 

continual feud -with the neighboring sachems, each of whom 
stood up stoutly for his hand-breadth of territory ; so that there 
is not a petty stream nor ragged hill in the neighborhood, that 
has not been the subject of long talks and hard battles. The 
sachem, however, as has been observed, was a medicine-man, 
as well as warrior, and vindicated his claims by arts as well as 
arms ; so that, by dint of a Httle hard fighting here, and hocus- 
pocus there, he managed to extend his boundary-line from field 
to field and stream to stream, until he found himself in legiti- 
mate possession of that region of hiUs and valleys, bright 
fountains and limpid brooks, locked in by the mazy windings 
of the Neperan and the Pocantico.* 

This last-mentioned stream, or rather the valley through 
which it flows, was the most difficult of all his acquisitions. It 
lay half way to the strong-hold of the redoubtaole sachem of 
Sing-Sing, and was claimed by him as an integral part of his 
domains. Many were the sharp conflicts between the rival 
chieftains for the sovereignty of this valley, and many the 
ambuscades, surprisals, and deadly onslaughts that took place 
among its fastnesses, of which it grieves me much that I can- 
not furnish the details for the gratification of those gentle but 
bloody-minded readers of both sexes, who dehght in the romance 
of the tomahawk and scalping-knife. Suflace it to say that the 
■wizard chieftain was at length victorious, though his victory is 
attributed in Indian tradition to a great medicine or charm by 
which he laid the sachem of Sing-Sing and his warriors asleep 
among the rocks and recesses of the valley, where they remain 
asleep to the present day with their bows and war-clubs beside 
them. This was the origin of that potent and drowsy spell 
which still prevails over the valley of the Pocantico, and which 
has gained it the well-merited appellation of Sleepy HoUow. 
Often, in secluded and quiet parts of that valley, where the 
stream is overhung by dark woods and rocks, the ploughman, 

*As EVERT one may not recognize these boundaries by their original Indian 
names, it may be -well to observe, that the Neperan is that beautiful stream, vul . 
garly called the Saw-Mill River, which, after winding gracefully for many miles 
through a lovely valley, shrouded by gi-oves. and dotted by Dutch farm-houses, 
empties itself into the Hudson, at the ancient dorp of Yonkers. Ihe Pocantico is 
that hitherto nameless brook, that, rising among woody hills, winds in many a 
wizard maze through the sequestered haunts of Sleepy Hollow. We owe it to the 
indefatigable researches of Mr. KNicKERBOCKiiR, that those beautiful streams are 
rescued from modern common-place, and reinvested with their ancient Indian 
names. The correctness of the venerable historian may be ascertained, by refer- 
ence to the records of the original Indian grants to the Herr Frederick Philipsen, 
preserved in the coimty clerk's office, at White Plains. 



on some calm and sunny day as he slioats to his oxen, is sur- 
prised at hearing faint shouts from the hill-sides in reply; 
being, it is said, the spell-boimd warrL:»rs, who half start from 
their rocky couches and gi^asp then- weapons, but sink to sleep 
again. 

The conquest of the Pocantico was the last triumph of the 
wizard sachem. Notmthstanding all his medicine and charms, 
he fell in battle in attempting to extend his boundary hne to 
the east so as to take in the httle wild valley of the Sprain, 
and his grave is still shown near the banks of that pastoral 
stream. He left, however, a great empire to his successors, 
extending along the Tappan Zee, from Yonkers quite to Sleepy 
Hollow; all wliich delectable region, if every one had his right, 
would still acknowledge allegiance to the lord of the Roost — 
whoever he might be.* 

The wizard sachem was succeeded by a Hne of chiefs, of 
whom nothing remarkable remains on r*rCord. The last who 
makes any figure in history is the one who ruled here at the 
time of the discovery of the country by the white man. This 
sachem is said to have been a renowned trencherman, who 
maintained almost as potent a sway by dint of good feeding as 
his warlike predecessor had done by hard fighting. He dili- 
gently cultivated the growth of ousters along the aquatic 
borders of his territories, and founded those great oyster-beds 
which yet exist along the shores of the Tappan Zee. Did any 
dispute occur between him and a neighboring sachem, he in- 
vited him and all his principal sages and fighting-men to a 
solemn banquet, and seldom failed of feeding them into terms. 
Enormous heaps of oyster-shells, which encumber the lofty 
banks of the river, remain as monuments of his gastronomical 
victories, and have been occasionally adduced through mistake 
by amateur geologists from town, as additional proofs of the 
deluge. Modern investigators, who are making such indefati- 
gable researches into our early history, have even affirmed that 
this sachem was the very individual on whom Master Hendrick 
Hudson and his mate, Robert Juet, made that sage and 

* In recording the contest for the sovereignty of Sleepy Hollow, I have called 
one sachem by the modern name of his castle or strong-hold, viz. : Sing-Sing. This, 
I would observe for the sake of historical exactness, is a corruption of the old 
Indian name,* O-sin -sing, or rather 0-sin-song; that is to say, a place where any 
thing may be had for a song— a great recommendation for a market town. The 
modern and melodious alteration of the name to Sing-Sing is said to have been 
made in compliment to an eminent Methodist singing-master, who first introduced 
into the neighborhood the art of singiBg through the nose. D. K. 



A CHR02sICLE OF WOLFERTS ROOST. 15 

astounding experiment so gravely recorded by the latter in his 
narrative of the voyage: "Our master and his mate deter- 
mined to try some of the cheefe men of the country whether 
they had any treacherie in them. So they took them down 
into the cabin and gave them so much wine and aqua vitse 
that they were all very merrie ; one of them had his wife with 
him, which sate so modestly as any of our countrywomen 
would do in a strange place. In the end one of them was 
drunke ; and that was strange to them, for they could not tell 
how to take it."* 

How far Master Hendrick Hudson and his worthy mate car- 
ried their experiment with the sachem's wife is not recorded, 
neither does the curious Robert Juet make any mention of the 
after-consequences of this grand moral test; tradition, how- 
ever, affirms that the sachem on landing gave his modest 
spouse a hearty rib-roasting, according to the connubial disci- 
phne of the aboriginals ; it farther affirms that he remained a 
hard drinker to the day of his death, trading away all his 
lands, acre by acre, for aqua vitoe ; by which means the Eoost 
and all its domains, from Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, came, in 
the regular course of trade and by right of purchase, into the 
possession of the Dutchmen. 

Never has a territorial riglit in these new countries been 
more legitimately and tradefully established ; yet, I giieve to 
say, the worthy government of the New Netherlands was not 
suffered to enjoy this grand acquisition unmolested ; for, in the 
year 1654, the losel Yankees of Connecticut — those swapping, 
bargaining, squatting enemies of the Manhattoes — made a 
daring inroad into this neighborhood and founded a colony 
called Westchester, or, as the ancient Dutch records term it, 
Vest Dorp, in the right of one Thomas Pell, who pretended to 
have purchased the whole surrounding coimtry of the Indians, 
and stood ready to argue their claims before any tribunal of 
Christendom. 

This happened during the chivalrous reigTi of Peter Stuyve- 
sant, and it roused the u'e of that guni^owder old hero ; wiio, 
v.^thout waiting to discuss claims tend tit/es, pounced at once 
upon the nest of nefarious squatters, carried off tv\-enty-five of 
t}iem in chains to the Manhattoes, nor did he stay his hand, 
nor give rest to his wooden leg, until he had driven every 
Yankee back into the bounds of Connecticut, or obhged him 

* See Juefs Jourual. Purchas rilgrim. 



16 woLFjarrs uo-ust am) miscellanies.- 

to acknowledge allegiance to their High Mightinesses. He 
then established certain out-posts, far in the Indian country, 
to keep an eye over these debateable lands; one of these 
border-holds was the Roost, being accessible from New Amster- 
dam by water, and easily kept supplied. The Yankees, how- 
ever, ha.d too great a hankering after this delectable region to 
give it up entirely. Some remained and swore allegiance to 
the IManhattoes ; but, while they kept this open semblance of 
fealty, they went to work secretly and vigorously to inter- 
marry ?md multijTjy, and by these nefarious means, artfully 
propagated themselves into possession of a wide tract of those 
open, arable parts of Westcliester county, lying along the 
Sound, where their descendants may be found at the present 
day ; while the mountainous regions along the Hudson, with 
the valleys of the Neperan and the Pocantico, are tenaciously 
held by the lineal descendants of the Copperheads. 



The chronicle of the venerable Diedrich here goes on to relate 
how that, shortly after the above-mentioned events, the whole 
province of the New Netherlands was subjugated by the 
British ; how that Wolf ert Acker, one of the wrang;ling coun- 
cillors of Peter Stuyvesant, retired in dudgeon to this fastness 
in the wilderness, determining to enjoy "lust in rust" for the 
remainder of his days, whence the place first received its name 
of WoKert's Roost. As these and sundry other matters have 
been laid before the public in a preceding article, I shall pass 
them over, and resume the chronicle where it treats of matters 
not hitherto recorded: 

Like many men who retire from a worrying world, says 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, to enjoy quiet in the country, Wol-. 
fert Acker soon found himself up to the ears in trouble. He 
had a termagant wife at home, and there was what is profanely 
called "the deuce to pay," abroad. The recent irruption of 
the Yankees into the bounds of the New Netherlands, had left 
behind it a doleful pestilence, such as is apt to follow the steps 
of invading armies. Tliis vvt^s the deadly plague of witchcraft, 
which had long been prevalent to the eastward. The malady 
broke out at Vest Dorp, and threatened to spread throughou't 
the country. The Dutch burghers along the Hudson, from 
Yonkers to Bleepy Hollow, hastened to nail horse-shoes to their 
doors, which have ever pe<.';a foraid of sovereign ^rtue to repel 



A CHRONICLE OF WOLFUJETS ROOST. 17 

tMs awful visitation. This is the origin of the horse-shoes 
which may still be seen nailed to the doors of barns and farm- 
houses, in various parts of this sage and sober-thoughted 
region. 

The evn, however, bore hard upon the Roost; partly, per- 
Iiaps, from its having in old times been subject to supernatural 
iniiuences, during the sway of the Wizard Sachem ; but it has 
always, in fact, been considered a fated mansion. The unlucky 
Wolfert had no rest day nor night. When the weather was 
quiet all over the country, the v/ind w^ould howl and whistle 
round his roof; witches would ride and whirl upon his weather- 
cocks, and scream down liis chinmeys. His cows gave bloody 
milk, and liis horses broke bounds, and scampered into the 
woods. There were not wanting evil tongues to whisper that 
Woliert's termagant wife had some tampering with the enemy ; 
and that she even attended a witches' Sabbath in Sleepy Hol- 
low ; nay, a neighbor, who lived hard by, declared tha.t he saw 
her harnessing a ramj^ant broom-stick, and about to ride to the 
meeting; though others presume it was merely flourished in 
the course of one of her curtain lectures, to ^xYq energy and 
emphasis to a period. Certain it is, that Wolfert Acker nailed 
a horse-shoe to the front door, during one of her nocturnal 
excursions, to prevent her return; but as she re-entered the 
house without any difficulty, it is probable she was not so 
mTicli of a witch as she was represented.* 

After the time of Wolfert Acker, a long interval elapses, 
about which but little is known. It is hoped, however, that 
the antiquarian researches so diligently making in every part 



* HiSTonrcAL Note. — The annexed extracts from tlie early colonial records, re- 
late to tlie irruption of witchci-aft into Westchester county, as mentioned in the 
chronicle: 

" Ji'LY 7, lOro.— Katharine Harryson, accused of witchcraft on complaint of Tho- 
mas Hunt and Edward Vv'aters, in behalf of the town, who pray that she may be 
ilriven from the town of Westchester. Tlio woman appears before the comicil. 
.... She was a native of England, and had lived a year in Weathersiield. Con- 
nacticut, whoi'e she had been tried for witchcraft, found jruilty by the jury, nc- 
ci.'itted by the bench, and released out of prison, upon condition she v.'ould remove. 
Aiiair adjourned. 

" August 24.— Affair taken up again, Avhen. being: heard at large, it was referred 
to the general court of assize. AYoman ordered to give security for good behavior,'' 
etc. 

In another place is the following entry: 

"Order given for Katharine Harryson, charged with witchcraft, to leave West- 
chester, as the inhabitants are uneasy at b.er residing there, and she is ordered to 
go off." 



18 WOLFBRT'S BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

of this new country, may yet throw some light upon what may 
be termed the Dark Ages of the Roost. 

The next period at which we find this venerable and eventful 
pile rising to importance, and resuming its old belligerent char- 
acter, is during the revolutionary war. It was at that time 
owned by Jacob Van Tassel, or Van Texel, as the name was 
originally spelled, after the place in Holland which gave birth 
to this heroic line. He was strong-built, long-limbed, and as 
stout in soul as in body ; a fit successor to the warrior sachem 
of yore, and, like hun, delighting in extravagant enterprises 
and hardy deeds of arms. But, before I enter upon the ex- 
ploits of this worthy cock of the Roost, it is fitttag I should 
throw some hght upon the state of the mansion, and of the 
surrounding country, at the time. 

The situation of the Roost is in the very heart of what was 
the debateable gi^ound between the American and British Mnes, 
luring the war. The British held possession of the city of New 
STork, and the island of ^Manhattan on which it stands. The 
Americans drew up toward the Highlands, holding their hoad- 
quartf rs at Peekskill. The intervening country, from Croton 
River to Spiting Devil Creek, v/as the debateable land, subject 
to be harried by friend and foe, like the Scottish borders of 
yore. It is a rugged country, with a liae of rocky hills extend- 
ing through it, like a back bone, sending ribs on either side ; 
but among these rude hills are beautiful wiuding vaUeys, like 
those watered by the Pocantico and the Neperan. In the fast- 
nesses of these hills, and along these valleys, exist a race of 
hard-headed, hard-handed, stout-hearted Dutchmen, descend- 
ants of the primitive Nederlanders. Most of these were strong 
whigs throughout the war, and have ever remained obstinately 
attached to the soil, and neither to be fought nor bought out of 
their paternal acres. Others were tories, and adherents to the. 
old kingly rule ; some of whom took refuge within the British 
lines, joined the royal bands of refugees, a name odious to the 
American ear, and occasionally returned to harass their an- 
cient neighbors. 

In a httle while, this debateable land was overrun by preda- 
tory bands from either side; sacking hen-roosts, plundering 
farm-houses, and driving off cattle. Hence arose those two 
great orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the Coav- 
boys, famous in the heroic annals of Westchester county. The 
former fought, or rather marauded, under the American, the 
latter under the British banner ; but both, in the hm^ry of their 



A CHRONICLE OF W0LFERT8 ROOST. 19 

military ardor, were apt to err on the safe side, and rob friend 
as well as foe. Neither of them stopped to ask the politics of 
horse or cow, which they drove into captivity ; nor, when they 
wi'ung the neck of a rooster, did they trouble their heads to 
ascertain v/hether he were crowing for Congress or King 
George. 

While this marauding system prevailed on shore, the Great 
Tappan Sea, which washes this belligerent region, was domi- 
neered over by British frigates and other vessels of war, an- 
chored here and there, to keep an eye upon the river, and 
maintain a communication betAveen the various military posts. 
Stout galleys, also, armed with eighteen-pounders, and navi- 
gated with sails and oars, cruised about like hawks, ready to 
pounce upon their prey. 

All these were eyed with bitter hostility by the Dutch yeo- 
manry along shore, who were indignant at seeing their great 
Mediterranean ploughed by hostile prows ; and would occasion- 
ally tlu'ow up a mud breast- work on a point or promontory, 
mount an old iron field-piece, and fire away at the enemy, 
though the greatest harm was apt to happen to themselves 
from the bursting of their ordnance ; nay, there was scarce a 
Dutclnnan along the river that would hesitate to fire with his 
long duck gun at any British cruiser that came within reach, 
as he had been accustomed to fire at water-fowl. 

I have been thus particular in my account of the times and 
neighborhood, that the reader might the more readily com- 
prehend the smTOunding dangers in this the Heroic Age of the 
Roost. 

It was conmianded at the time, as I have already observed, 
hj the stout Jacob Van Tassel. As I wish to be extremely 
accurate in this pa,rt of my chronicle, I beg that this Jacob 
Van Tassel of the Roost may not be confounded with another 
Jacob Van Tassel, commonly known in border story by the 
name of "Clump-footed Jake," a noted tory, and one of the 
refugee band of Spiting Devil. On the contrary, he of the 
Roost was a patriot of the first water, and, if we may take his 
own word for granted, a thorn in the side of the enemy. As 
the Roost, from its lonely situation on the water's edge, might 
be liable to attack, he took measures for defence. On a row 
of hooks above his fire-place, reposed his great piece of ord- 
nance, ready charged and primed for action. This was a 
duck, or rather goose-gun, of unparalleled longitude, with 
which it was said he could kill a wild goose, though half-way 



20 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

across the Tappan Sea. Indeed, there are as many wonders 
told of this renowned gun, as of the enchanted weapons of the 
heroes of classic story. 

In different parts of the stone Avails of his mansion, he had 
made loop-holes, through which he might fire upon an assail- 
ant. His wife was stout-hearted as himself, and could load as 
fast as he could fire ; and then he had an ancient and redoubtable 
sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, a match, as he said, for the stout- 
est man in the country. Thus garrisoned, the little Roost was 
fit to stand a siege, and Jacob Van Tassel was the man to defend 
it to the last charge of powder. 

He was, as I have already hinted, of pugnacious propensities ; 
and, not content with being a patriot at home, and fightmg for 
the security of his own fireside, he extended his thoughts 
abroad, and entered into a confederacy with cerfcam of the 
bold, hard-riding lads of Tarry town, Petticoat Lane, and Sleepy 
Hollow, who formed a kind of Holy Brotherhood, scouring the 
country to clear it of Skinner and Cow-boy, and all other bor- 
der vermin. The Roost was one of their rallying points. Did 
a band of marauders from Manhattan island come sweeping 
through the neighborhood, and driving off cattle, the stout 
Jacob and his compeers were soon clattering at their heels, and 
fortunate did the rogues esteem themselves if they could but 
get a part of their booty across the lines, or escape themselves 
without a rough handling. Should the mosstroopers succeed 
in passing with their cavalgada, with thundering tramp and 
dusty whirlwind, across Kingsbridge, the Holy Brotherhood of 
the Roost would rein up at that perilous pass, and, wheehng 
about, would indemnify themselves by foraging the refugee 
region of Morrisania. 

When at home at the Roost, the stout Jacob was not idle; 
but was prone to carry on a petty warfare of his OAvn, for his 
private recreation and refreshment. Did he ever chance to 
espy, from his look-out place, a hostile ship or galley anchored 
or becalmed near shore, he would take down his long goose-gun 
from the hooks over the fire-place, sally out alone, and lurk 
along shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, and watching for 
hours together, like a veteran mouser intent on a rat-hole. So 
sure as a boat put off for shore, and came witliin shot, bang! 
went the great goose-gun; a shower of slugs and buck-shot 
whistled about the ears of the enemy, and before tiie boat could 
reach the shore, Jacob had scuttled up some woody ravine, and 
left no trace beliind. 



A CIIROMCLH OF WOLFLUTS ROOST. 21 

About tliis time, the Roost experienced a vast accession of 
warlike importance, in being made one of the stations of the 
■water-guard. This was a kind of aquatic corps of observation, 
composed of long, sharp, canoe-shaped boats, technically called 
whale-boats, that lay lightly on the water, and could be rowed 
with great rapidity. They were manned by resolute fellows, 
skilled at pulling an oar, or handling a musket. These lurked 
about in nooks and bays, and behind those long promontories 
which run out into the Tappan Sea, keeping a look-out, to give 
notice of the approach or movements of hostile ships. They 
roved about in pairs; sometimes at night, with muffled oars, 
gliding like spectres about frigates and guard-ships riding at 
anchor, cutting off any boats that made for shore, and keeping 
the enemy in constant uneasiness. These musquito-cruisers 
generally kept aloof by day, so that their harboring places 
might not be discovered, but would pull quietly along, under 
shadow of the shore, at night, to take up their quarters at the 
Roost. Hither, at such time, would also repair the hard-riding 
lads of the liilis, to hold secret councils of war with the ''ocean 
chivalry;" and in these nocturnal meetings were concerted 
many of those daring forays, by land and water, that resounded 
throughout the border. 



The chronicle here goes on to 'recount divers wonderful 
stories of the wars of the Roost, from Avhich it would seem, 
that this little warrior nest carried the terror of its arms into 
every sea, from Spiting Devil Creek to Antony's Nose ; that it 
even bearded the stout island of Manhattan, invading it at 
night, penetrating to its centre, and burning down the famous 
Delancey house, the conflagration of which makes such a binze 
in revolutionary history. Nay more, in their extravagant dar- 
ing, these cocks of the Roost meditated a nocturnal descent 
upon Nev;- York itself, to swoop upon the British commandei^, 
Howe and Clinton, by surprise, bear them off captive, and per- 
haps put a triumphant close to the war ! 

All these and many similar exploits are recorded by the 
worthy Diedrich, with his usual minuteness and enthusiasm, 
whenever the deeds in arms of his kindred Dutchmen are in 
question ; but though most of these warlike stories rest upon 
the best of all authority, that of the warriors themselves, and 
though many of them are still current among the revolutionary 
patriarchs of this heroic neighborhood, yet I dare not expose 



22 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

them to the increduhty of a tamer and less chivah'ic age. 
Suffice it to say, the frequent gatherings at the Roost, and 
the hardy projects set on foot there, at length drew on it the 
fiery indignation of the enemy ; and this was quickened by the 
conduct of the stout Jacob Van Tassel ; with whose valorous 
achievements we resume the course of the chronicle. 



This doughty Dutchman, continues the sage Diedrigh 
Knickerbocker, was not content with taking a share in all the 
magnaminous enterprises concocted at the Roost, but still con- 
tinued his petty warfare along shore. A series of exploits at 
length raised his confidence in his prowess to such a height, 
that he began to think himself and his goose-gun a match for 
any thmg. Unluckily, in the course of one of his prowlings, 
he descried a British transport agromid, not far from shore, 
with her stern swung toward the land, within point-blank shot. 
The temptation was too great to be resisted; bang! as usual, 
went the great goose-gun, shivering the cabin windows, and 
driving all hands forward. Bang! bang! the shots were 
repeated. The reports brought several sharp-shooters of the 
neighborhood to the spot ; before the transport could bring a 
gun to bear, or land a boat, to take revenge, she was soundly 
peppered, and the coast evacuated. This was the last of 
Jacob's triumphs. He fared like some heroic spider, that has 
un^vittingly ensnared a hornet, to his immortal glory, perhaps, 
but to the utter ruin of his web. 

It was not long after this, during the absence of Jacob Van 
Tassel on one of his forays, and when no one was in garrison 
but his stout-hearted spouse, his redoubtable sister, Nochie Van 
Wurmer, and a strapping negro wench, called Dinah, that an 
armed vessel came to anchor off the Roost, and a boat full of 
men pulled to shore. The garrison flcAv to arms, that is to say, 
to mops, broom-sticks, shovels, tongs, and all kinds of domestic 
weapons; for, unluckily, the great piece of ordnance, the 
goOse-gun, was absent with its owner. Above all, a vigorous 
defence was made with that most potent of female weapons, 
the tongue. Never did invaded hen-roost make a more vocifer- 
ous outcry. It was all in vain. The house was sacked and 
plundered, fire was set to each corner, and in a few moments 
its blaze shed a baleful Hght far over the Tappan Sea. The 
invadei-s then pounced upon the blooming Laney Van Tassel, the 
beauty of the Roost, and endeavored to bear her off to the boat. 



A CHRONICLE OF WOLFERTS ROOST. 23 

But here was the real tug of war. The mother, the aunt, and 
the strapping negro wench, all flew to the rescue. The struggle 
continued down to the very water's edge ; when a voice from 
the armed vessel at anchor, ordered the spoilers to let go their 
hold; they relinquished their prise, jumped into their boats, 
and pulled off, and the heroine of the Roost escaped with a 
mere riunpling of the feathers. 



The fear of tiring my readers, who may not take such an 
interest as myself in these heroic themes, induces me to close 
here my extracts from this precious chronicle of the venerable 
Diedrich. Sufflce it briefly to say, that shortly after the 
catastrophe of the Roo3t, Jacob Van Tassel, in the course 
of one of his forays, fell into the hands of the British ; was 
sent prisoner to New York, and was detained in captivity for 
the greater part of the war. In the mean time, the Roost 
remained a melancholy ruin ; its stone walls and brick chim- 
neys alone standing, blackened by fire, and the resort of bats 
and owlets. It was not untfl the return of peace, when this 
beUigerent neighborhood once more resumed its quiet agricul- 
tural pursuits, that the stout Jacob sought the scene of his tri- 
umphs and disasters; rebuilt the Roost, and reared again on 
high its glittering weather-cocks. 

Does any one want further particulars of the fortunes of 
this eventful little pile? Lot him go to the fountain-head, and 
drink deep of historic truth. Reader 1 the stout Jacob Van 
Tassel still lives, a venerable, gray-headed patriarch of the rev- 
olution, now in his ninety-fifth year I He sits by his fireside, 
in the ancient city of the Manhattoes, and passes the long win- 
ter evenings, surrounded by Ms children, and grand-children, 
and great-grand-children, all listening to his tales of the border 
wars, and the heroic da,ys of the Roost. His great goose-gun, 
too, is still in existence, having been preserved for many 
years in a hollow tree, and passed from hand to hand among 
the Dutch burghers, as a precious relique of the revolution. 
It is now actually in possession of a contemporary of the stout 
Jacob, one almost his equal in years, who treasures it up at his 
house in the Bowerie of Nevr-Amsterdam, hard by the ancient 
rural retreat of the chivalric Peter Stuyvcsant. I am not 
without hopes of one day seeing this formidable piece of 
ordinance restored to its proper station in the ai'senal of the 
Boost. 



24 WOLFEHTS liOOST AND MiSiJELLAMKS. 

Before closing this historic document, I cannot but adreii: to 
certain notions and traditions concerning the venerable pile in 
question. Old-time edifices are apt to gather odd fancies and 
superstitions about them, as they do moss and weather-stams ; 
and this is in a neighborhood a little given to old-fashioned 
notions, and who look upon the Roost as somewhat of a fated 
mansion. A lonely, rambling, down-hill lane leads to it, over- 
hung Y/ith trees, with a wild brook dashing along, and crossing 
and re-crossing it. This lane I f oiin J some of the good people 
of the neighborhood shy of treading at night ; why, I could not 
for a long time ascertain ; until I le.irned that one or two of the 
rovers of the Tappan Sea, shot by the stout Jacob during the 
war, had been buried hereabout, in unconsecrated ground. 

Another local superstition is of a less gloomy kind, and one 
which I confess I am somewhat disposed to cherish. The Tap- 
pan Sea, in front of the Roost, is about three miles wide, bor- 
dered by a lofty line of waving and rocky hills. Often, in the 
still twilight of a sinnni-jr evening, when the sea is like glass, 
with the opposite hills throwing their purple shadows half 
across it, a low sound is heard, as of the steady, vigorous pull 
of oars, far out in the middle of the stream, though not a boat 
is to be descried. This I should have been apt to ascribe to 
some boat rowed along under the shadows of the western 
shore, for sounds are convoyed to a great distance by v.^ater, a,t 
such quiet iiours, and I can distinctly hear the baying of the 
watch-dogs at night, from the farms on the sides of the opposite 
mountains. The ancient traditionists of the neighborhood, 
however, religiously ascribed these sounds to a jiKlrpnent upon 
one Rumbout Van Dam, of Spiting Devil, \vho ■ianced and 
drank late one Saturday night, at a Dutch quilting frolic, at 
Kakiat, and set off alone for home in his boat, on the verge of 
Sunday moi-ning ; swearing he would not land till he reached 
Spiting Devil, if it took him a month of Sundays. He was 
never seen afterward, but is often heard plying his oars across 
the Tappan Sea, a Flying Dutchman on a small scale, suited to 
\h.Q size of his cruising-gi^ound ; being doomed to ply between 
:-r.akiat and Spiting Devil till the day of judgment, but never 
to reach the land. 

There is one room iv^ the mansion which almost overhangs 
the river, and is repufed to be haunted by the ghost of a 
young lady who died of love and gTeen apples. I have been 
awakened at night by the sound of oars and the tinkling of 
guitars beneath the window ; r.nd seeing a boat loitermg in the 



SLEEPY HOLLOW. 25 

moonlight, have been tempted to believe it the Flying Dutch- 
man of Spiting Devil, and to try whether a silver bullet might 
not put an end to his unhappy cruisings ; but, happening to 
recollect that there was a living young lady in the haunted 
room, who might bo terrified by the report of fire-arrns, I have 
refrained from pulling tiigc^er. 

As to the enchanted fountain, said to have been gifted hj the 
wizard sachem with supernatural powers, it still wells up at tho 
foot of the bank, on the margin of the river, and goes by tho 
name of the Indian spring; but I have my doubts as to its 
rejuvenating powers, for though I have drank oft and copi- 
ously of it, I cannot boast that I find myself growing younger. 

Geofihrey Ceayon. 



SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 

Having pitched my tent, probably for the remainder of my 
days, in the neighborhood of Sleepy Hollow, I am tempted to 
give some few particulars concerning^ that spell-bound region ; 
especially as it has risen to historic importance under the pen 
of my revered friend and master, the sage historian of the New 
Netherlands. Beside, I find uhe very existence of the place has 
been held in question by many; who, judging from its odd 
name and from the odd stories current among the vulgar con- 
cerning it, have rashly deemed the whole to be a fanciful crea- 
tion, hke the Lubber Land of mariners. I must confess there 
is some apparent cause for doubt, in consequence of the color- 
ing given by the worthy Diedrich to his descriptions of the 
Hollow ; who, in this instance, has departed a little from his 
usually sober if not severe style ; beguiled, very probably, by 
his predilection for the haunts of his youth, and by a certain 
lurking taint of romance whenever any thing connected with 
the Dutch was to be described. I shall endeavor to make up 
for this amiable error on the part of my venerable and venSr- 
ated friend by presenting the reader with a more precise and 
statistical account of the Hollow ; though I am not sure that I 
shall not be prone to lapso in the end into the very error I am 
spealdng of, so potent is the witchery of the theme. 

I bcheve it was the very peculiarity of its name and the idea 



20 WGLFlCin":^ ilOGoT AND 2I1^CL:L LADIES. 

of something mystic and dreamy comiected with it that first 
led me in my boyish rambhngs into Sleepy Hollow. The 
character of the valley seemed to answer to the name; the 
slumber of past ages apparently reigned over it; it had not 
awakened to the stir of imj)rovement Vv^hich had put all the rest 
of the world in a bustle. Here reigned good, old long-forgotten 
fashions; the men were in home-spun gai'bs, evidently the 
product of their own farms and the manufacture of their own 
wives ; the women were in primitive short gowns and petticoats, 
with the venerable sun-bonnets of Holland origin. The lower 
part of the valley was cut up into small farms, each consisting 
of a httle meadow and corn-field; an orchard of sprawling, 
gnarled apple-trees, and a garden, where the rose, the marigold, 
and the hollyhock were permitted to skirt the domains of the 
capacious cabbage, the aspiring pea, and the portly pumpkin. 
Each had its prolific little mansion teeming with children ; with 
an old hat nailed against the wall for the housekeeping wren ; 
a motherly hen, under a coop on the gi'ass-plot, clucking to 
keep around her a brood of vagrant chickens ; a cool, stone 
well, with the moss-covered bucket suspended to the long bal- 
ancing-pole, according to the antediluvian idea of hydraulics ; 
and its spinning-wheel humming within doors, the patriarchal 
music of home manufacture. 

The Hollow at that time was inhabited by families which 
had existed there from the earliest times, and which, by fre- 
quent intermarriage, had become so interwoven, as to make a 
kind of natural commonwealth. As the families had grown 
larger the farms had gi^own smaller; every new generation 
requiring a new subdivision, and few thinking of swarming 
from the native hive. In this way that happy golden mean 
had been produced, so much extolled by the poets, in which 
there was no gold and very little silver. One thing which 
doubtless contributed to keep up this amiable mean was a 
general repugnance to sordid labor. The sage inhabitants of 
Sleepy Hollow had read in their Bible, which was the only 
book they studied, that labor was originally inflicted upon man 
a.s a punishment of sin ; they regarded it, therefore, with pious 
^horrence, and never humiliated themselves to it but in cases 
of extremity. There seemed, in fact, to be a league and 
covenant against it throughout the Hollow as against a common 
enemy. Was any one compelled by dire necessity to repair 
his house, mend his fences, build a barn, or get in a harvest, 
he considered it a great evil that entitled him to call in the 



8LEEPY HOLLOW, 27 

assistance oi his friendr He accordingly proclaimed a ' bee ' 
or rustic gathering, whereupon all his neighbors hurried to his 
aid h]?:e faithful alUes; attacked the task with the desperate 
energy of lazy men eager to overcome a job; and, when it was 
accomphshed, fell to eating and drinking, fiddling and danc- 
ing for very joy that so great an amount of labor had been van- 
quished with so httle sweating of the brow. 

Yet, let it not be supposed that this worthy community wa3 
without its periods of arduous activity. Let but a flock of 
wild pigeons fly across the vaUey and all Sleepy HoUoav was 
wide awake in an mstant. The pigeon season had arrived I 
Every gun and net was forthwith in requisition. The flail was 
thrown down on the barn floor ; the spade rusted in the garden ; 
the plough stood idle in tiie furrow ; every one was to the hill- 
side and stubble-field at daybreak to shoot or entrap the 
pigeons in their periodical migrations. 

So, likewise, let but the word be given that the shad were 
ascending the Hudson, and the worthies of the Hollow were»to 
be seen launched in boats upon the river setting great stakes, 
and stretching their nets hke gigantic spider-webs half across 
the stream to the great annoyance of navigators. Such are the 
wise provisions of Nature, by which she equahzes rural affairs. 
A laggard at the plough is often extremely industrious with 
the fowhng-piece and fisliing-net ; and, whenever a man is an 
indifferent fanner, he is apt to be a first-rate sportsman. For 
catching shad and wild pigeons there were none throughout 
the country to compare with the lads of Sleepy Hollow. 

As I have observed, it was the dreamy nature of the name 
that first beguiled me in the holiday rovings of boyhood into 
this sequestered region. I shunned, however, the populous 
parts of the Hollow, and sought its retired haunts far in the 
foldings of the hills, whore the Pocantico "winds its wizard 
stream" sometimes silently and darkly through solemn wood- 
lands ; sometimes sparkling betwceen grassy bordera in fresh, 
green meadows ; sometimes stealing along the feet of rugged 
heights under the balancing sprays of beech and chestnut 
trees. A thousand crystal springs, with which this neighbor- 
hood abounds, sent down from the hill-sides their whimperinf^ 
rills, as if to pay tribute to the Pocantico. In this stream I 
first essayed my unskilful hand at angling. I loved to loiter 
along it with rod in hand, watching my float as it whirled 
amid the eddies or drifted into dark holes under twisted roots 
and simken logs, where the largest fish are apt to lurk. I 



28 WOLFEBTS ROOST A^J) MISCELLANIES. 

delighted to follow it into the brown Becesses of the woods ; to 
tlirow by my fishing-gear and sit upon rocks beneath towering 
oaks and clambering grape-vinos; bathe my feet in the cool 
current, ?*nd Hsten to the sinxLmer breeze playing among the 
tree-toi3s. My boyish fancy clothed all nature around me with 
ideal charms, and peopled it with the fairy beings I had read 
of in poetry and fable. Here it was I gave full scope to my 
incipient habit of daydreaming, and to a certain propensity, 
to weave up and tint sober realities with my own whims and 
imaginings, which has sometimes made life a little too much 
like an Arabian tnle to me, and this "working-day world" 
rather like a region of romance. 

The great gathering-place of Sleepy Hollow in those days was 
the church. It stood outside of the Hollow, near the great 
highway, on a green bank shaded by trees, with the Pocantico 
sweeping round it and emptying itself into a spacious mill- 
pond. At that time the Sleepy Hollow church was the only 
place of worship for a wide neighborhood. It was a venerable 
edifice, partly of stone and partly of brick, the latter having 
been brought from Holland in the early days of the province, 
before the arts in the New Netherlands could aspire to such a 
fabrication. On a stone above the porch were inscribed the 
names of the founders, Frederick Filipsen, a mighty patroon of 
the olden time, who reigned over a v/ide extent of this neigh- 
borhood and held his seat of power at Yonkers; and his Avife, 
Katrina Van Courtlandt, of the no less potent line of the Van 
Courtlandts of Croton, who lorded it over a great part of the 
Highlands. 

The capacious pulpit, with its wide-spreading sounding- 
board, were likewise early importations from Holland ; as also 
the communion-table, of massive form and curious fabric. 
The same might be said of a weather-cock perched on top of 
the belfry, and which was considered orthodox in all windy 
matters, until a smaU pragmatical rival vv^as set up on the other 
end of the church above the chancel. This latter bore, and 
still bears, the initials of Frederick Filipsen, and assumed great 
airs in consequence. The usual contradiction ensued that 
always exists among church weather-cocks, which can never 
be brought to agree as to the point from which the wind blows, 
having doubtless acquired, from their position, the Christian 
propensity to schism and controversy. 

Behind the church, and sloping up a gentle acchvity, was its 
capacious burying-ground, in wliich slept the earhest fathers 



SLEEPY HOLLOW, 29 

of this rural neighborhood. Here were tombstones of the 
rudest sculpture; on which were inscribed, in Dutch, the 
names and vii-tues of many of the first settlers, with their 
portraitures curiously carved in similitude of cherubs. Long 
rows of grave-stones, side by side, of similar names, but various 
dates, showed that generation after generation of the same 
families had followed each other and been garnered together in 
this last gathering- place of kindred. 

Let me speak of this quiet grave-yard with all due rever- 
ence, for I owe it amends for the heedlessness of my boyish 
days. I blush to acknowledge the thoughtless frolic with 
which, in company with other whipsters, I have sported within 
its sacred bounds during the intervals of worship; chasing 
butterflies, plucking vrild floAvers, or vying with each other 
who could leap over the tallest tomb-stones, until checked by 
the stern voice of the sexton. 

The congregation was, in those days, of a really rural char- 
acter. City fashions were as yet unknown, or unregarded, by 
the country people of the neighborhood. Steam-boats had not 
as yet confounded town with country. A weekly market-boat 
from Tarrytown, the "Farmers' Daughter," navigated by the 
worthy Gabriel Requa, was the only communication between 
all these parts and the metropolis. A rustic belie in those days 
considered a visit to the city in much tlie same light as one of 
our modern fasliionable ladies regards a visit to Europe; an 
event that may possibly take place once in the course of a life- 
time, but to be hoped for, rather than expected. Hence the 
array of the congi'egation v/as chiefly after the primitive fash- 
ions existing in Sleepy Hollow ; or if, by chance, there was a 
departure from the Dutch sun-bonnet, or the appaiifcion of a 
bright gown of flowered calico, it caused quite a sensation 
throughout the church. As the dominie generally preached 
by the hour, a bucket of water was providently placed on a 
bench near the door, in summer, with a tin cup beside it, for 
the solace of those who might be athirst, either from the heat 
of the weather, or the drouth of the sermon. 

Around the pulpit, and behind the communion-table, sat the 
elders of the church, reverend, gray -headed, leathern-visaged 
men, whom I regarded with awe, as so many apostles. They 
Were stern in their sanctity, kept a vigilant eye upon my 
giggling companions and myself, and shook a rebuking finger 
at any boyish device to relieve the tediousness of compulsory 
devotion. Vain, however, were all then* efforts at vigilance. 



30 woLFERTs noo.rr a^d miscellanies. 

Scarcely had the preacher held forth for half an hour, on one 
of his interminable sermons, than it seemed as if the drowsy 
influence of Sleepy Holiow breathed into the place; one by one 
the congregation sank into slumber; the sanctified eldei-s 
leaned back in their pews, spreading their handkerchiefs over 
their faces, as if to keep off the flies ; while the locusts in the 
neighboring trees would spin out their sultry summer notes, as 
if in imitation of the sleep-provoking tones of the dominie. 

I have thus endeavored to give an idea of Sleepy Hollow and 
its church, as I recollect them to have been in the days of my 
boyhood. It was in my stripling days, when a few years had 
passed over my head, that I revisited them, in company with 
the venerable Diedrich. I shall never forget the antiquarian 
reverence with which that sage and excellent man contem- 
plated the church. It seemed as if all his pious enthusiasm for 
the ancient Dutch dynasty swelled within his bosom at the 
sight. The tears stood in his eyes, as he regarded the pulpit 
and the communion-table ; even the very bricks that had come 
fi'om the mother country, seemed to touch a fihal chord within 
his bosom. He almost bowed in deference to the stone above 
the porch, containing the names of Frederick Filipscn and 
Eatrina Van Courtlandt, regarding it as the linking together 
of those patronymic names, once so famous along the banks of 
the Hudson; or rather as a key-stone, binding that mighfcy 
Dutch family connexion of yore, one foot of which rested on 
Yonkers, and the other on the Croton. Nor did he forbear 
to notice with admiration, the windy contest which had been 
carried on, since time immemorial, and with real Dutch x>er- 
sevcrance, between the two weather-cocks; though I could 
easily perceive he coincided with the one which had come from 
Holland. 

To<'ether we paced the ample church-yard. With deep 
veneration would he turn down the weeds and brambles that 
obscured the modest brown grave-stones, half sunk in earth, on 
which were recorded, in Dutch, the names of the patriarchs of 
ancient days, the Ackers, the Van Tassels, and the Van Warts. 
As we sat on one of the tomb-stones, he recounted to mo the 
exploits of ruBxij of these worthies ; and niy heart smote rae, 
when I heard of their great doings in days of yore, to thinlt 
how heedlessly I had once sported over their graves. 

From the church, the venerable Diedrich proceeded in his 
researches up the Hollow. The genius of the place seemed 
to hail its future historian. AU nature was ahvc with gratular 



SLEEPY HOLLOW. 31 

tion. The quail whistled a greeting from the corn-field; the 
robin carolled a song of praise from the orchard; the loqua- 
cious catbird flew from bush to bush, with restless wing, pro- 
claiming his approach in every variety of note, and anon 
would whisk about, and perk inquisitively into his face, as if 
to get a knowledge of his physiognomy ; the wood-pecker, also, 
tapped a tattoo on the hollow apple-tree, and then peered 
knowingly round the trunk, to see how the great Diedrich 
rehshed his salutation; while the ground-squirrel scampered 
along the fence, and occasionally whisked his tail over his head, 
by way of a huzza 1 

The worthy Diedrich pursued his researches in the vaUey 
with characteristic devotion ; entering familiarly into the vari- 
ous cottages, and gossiping with the simple folk, in the style 
of their own simphcity. I confess my heart yearned with 
admiration, to see so gi'eat a man, in his eager quest after 
knowledge, humbly demeaning himself to curry favor with 
the humblest ; sitting patiently on a three-legged stool, patting 
the children, and taking a purring grimalkin on his lap, while 
he conciliated the good-will of the old Dutch housewife, and 
drew from her long ghost stories, spun out to the humming 
accompaniment of her wheel. 

His greatest treasure of historic lore, however, was dis- 
coveeed in an old goblin-looking mill, situated among rocks and 
waterfalls, ^vLth clanking wheels, and rushing streams, and all 
kinds of uncouth noises. A horse-shoe, nailed to the door to 
keep off witches and evil spirits, showed that this mill was 
subject to awful visitations. As we approached it, an old negro 
thrust his head, all dabbled with flour, out of a hole above 
the water-wheel, and grinned, and rolled his eyes, and looked 
like the very hobgoblin of the place. The illustrious Diedrich 
fixed upon him, at once, as the very one to give liim that m- 
valuable kind of information never to be acquired from books. 
He beckoned him from his nest, sat with liim by the hour on 
a broken mill-stone, by the side of the waterfall, heedless of 
the noise of the water, and the clatter of the mill ; and I verily 
beheve it was to his conference with this African sage, and the 
precious revelations of the good dame of the spinning-wheel, 
that we are indebted for the surprising though true history of 
Ichabod Crane and the headless horseman, which has since 
astounded and edified the world. 

But I have said enough of the good old times of my youthful 
days ; let me speak of the Hollow as I found it, after an ab- 



32 WOLFE RTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

sence of many years, vriien it was kindly given me once more 
to revisit the haunts of my boyhood. It was a genial day, as I 
approached that fated region. The warm sunshine was tem- 
pered by a slight haze, so as to give a dreamy e:Sect to the 
landscape. IS^ot a breath of air shock the foliage. The broad 
Tappan Sea wa.s without a ripple, and the sloops, with droop- 
ing sails, slept on its grassy bosom. Columns of smoke, from 
burning brush-wood, rose lazily from the folds of the hills, on 
the opposite side of the river, and slow^ly expanded in mid-air. 
The distant lowing of a cow, or the noontide crowing of a cock, 
coming faintly to the ear, seemed to illustrate, rather than dis- 
turb, the drowsy quiet of the scene. 

I entered the hollow with a beating heart. Contrary to my 
apprehensions, I found it but little changed. The march of 
intellect, which had made such rapid strides along every river 
and highway, had not yet, apparently, turned down into this 
favored valley. Perhaps the wizard spell of ancient days 
still reigned over the place, binding up the faculties of the in- 
habitants in happy contentment with things as they had been 
handed down to them from yore. There were the same httle 
farms and farmhouses, with their old hats for the housekeep 
ing wren; their stone wells, moss-covered buckets, and long 
balancing poles. There were the same little rills, wliimpering 
down to pay their tributes to the Pocantico ; while that wizard 
stream still kept on its course, as of old, through solemn wood- 
lands and fresh green meadows : nor were there wanting joy- 
ous holiday boys to loiter along its banks, as I have done ; throw 
their pin-hooks in the stream, or launch their mimic barks. I 
watched them with a kind of melancholy i^leasure, wondering 
whether they were under the same spell of the fancy that once 
rendered this valley a fairy land to me. Alas! alas I to me 
every thing now stood revealed in its simple reality. The 
echoes no longer answered with wizard tongues ; the dream of 
youth was at an end ; the spell of Sleepy/ Hollov7 was broken I 

I sought *the ancient church on the foliov^^ing Sunday. There 
it stood, on its green bank, among the trees; the Pocantico 
swept by it in a deep dark stream, where I had so often 
angled ; there exandcd the mill-pond, as of old, with the cows 
under the vvollows on its margin, knee-deep in water, chewing 
the cud, and lashing the flies from their sides with their tail^. 
The hand of improvement, however, had been busy with the 
venerable pile. The pulpit, fabricated in Holland, had been 
superseded by one of modem construction, and the front of the 



SLEEPY HOLLOW. 33 

semi-Gothic edifice was decorated by a semi-Grecian portico. 
Fortunately, the two weather-cocks remained undisturbed on 
their perches at each end of the churcli, and stiQ kept up a 
diametrical opposition to each other on all points of windy doc- 
trme. 

On entering' the church the changes of time continued to be 
apparent. The elders round the pulpit were men whom I had 
left in the gamesome frolic of their youth, but who had suc- 
ceeded to the sanctity of station of which they once had stood 
so much in awe. What most struck my eye was the change in 
the female part of the congregation. Instead of the primitive 
garbs of homespun mnnnfacture and antique Dutch fashion, 
I beheld French sleeves, ii-ench capes, and French collars, and 
a fearful-fluttering of i'rench ribbands. 

When the service was ended I sought the church-yard, in 
wliich I had sported in my unthinkmg days of boyhood. 
Several of the modest brown stones, on which were recorded in 
Duich the names and virtues of the patriarchs, had disap- 
peared, and had been succeeded by others of white marble, 
with urns and wreaths, and scraps of Enghsh tomb-stone 
poetry, marking the intrusion of taste and literature and the 
Enghsh language in this once unsophisticated Dutch neighbor- 
hood. 

As I was stumbling about among these silent yet eloquent me- 
morials of the dead, I came upon names famihar to me ; of those 
who had paid the debt of nature during the long interval of my 
absence. Some, I remembered, my companions in boyhood, 
who had sported with me on the very sod under which they 
Were now'mouldering ; others who in those days had been the 
flower of the yeomanry, figuring in Sunday finery on the 
church green; others, the white-haired elders of the sanctu- 
ary, once arrayed in awful sanctity around the pulpit, and 
ever ready to rebuke the ill-tim.ed mirth of the wanton strip- 
ling who, now a man, sobered by years and schooled by 
vicissitudes, looked down pensively upon their graves. ' ' Our 
fathers," thought I, "where are they! — and the prophets, can 
they live for ever I" 

I was disturbed in my meditations by the noise of a troop of 
idle urchins, who came gambolling about the place where I had 
so often gambolled. They were checked, as I and my play- 
mates had often been, by the voice of the sext-on, a man staid 
in years and demeanor. I looked ^vistfully in his face ; had 
I met him any where else, I should probably have passed him 



34 W0LFERT8 ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

by without remark; but here I was alive to the traces of for- 
mer times, and detected in the demure featm-es of this guar- 
dian of the sanctuary the lurking lineaments of one of the very 
playmates I have alluded to. We renewed our acquaintance. 
He sat down beside me, on one of the tomb-stones over which 
we had leaped in our juvenile sports, and we talked together 
about our boyish days, and held edifying discourse on the in- 
stabihty of all sublunary things, as instanced in the scene around 
us. He was rich in historic lore, as to the events of the last 
thirty yeai*s and the circumference of thirty miles, and from 
Mm I learned the appalhng revolution that was taking place 
throughout the neighborhood. All this I clearly perceived he 
attributed to the boasted march of intellect, or rather to the 
all-pervading influence of steam. He bewailed the times when 
the only communication with town was by the weekly market- 
boat, the "Farmers' Daughter," which, under the pilotage of 
the worthy Gabriel Requa, braved the perils of the Tappan Sea. 
Alas! Gabriel and the "Farmer's Daughter" slept in peace. 
Two steamboats now splashed and paddled up daily to the little 
rural port of Tarry town. The spirit of speculation and improve- 
ment had seized even upon that once quiet and unambitious lit- 
tle dorp. The whole neighborhood was laid out into town lots. 
Instead of the little tavern below the Mil, where the farmers 
used to loiter on market days and indulge in cider and ginger- 
bread, an ambitious hotel, with cupola and verandas, now 
crested the sunmiit, among churches built in the Grecian and 
GotMc styles, showing the gi-eat increase of piety and pohte 
taste in the neighborhood. As to Dutch dresses and sun-bon- 
nets, they were no longer tolerated, or even thought of; not 
a farmer's daughter but now went to town for the fashions; 
nay, a city milliner had recently set up in the village, who 
threatened to reform the heads of the whole neighborhood. 

I had heard enough ! I thanked my old playmate for his in- 
telhgence, and departed from the Sleepy Hollow church with 
the sad conviction that I had beheld the last lingerings of the 
good old Dutch times in this once favored region. If any 
tMng were wanting to confirm this impression, it would be the 
intelligence Avhich has just reached me, that a bank is about 
to be established in the aspiring little port just mentioned. 
The fate of the neighborhood is therefore sealed. I see no 
hope of averting it. The golden mean is at an end, The coun- 
try is suddenly to be deluged with wealth. The late simple 
farmei-s are to become bank directors and drink claret and 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 35 

champagne; and their wives and daughters to figure in French 
hats and feathers ; for French wines and French fashions com- 
monly keep pace with paper money. How can I hope that 
even Sleepy Hollow can escape the general inundation? In a 
little while, I fear the slumber of ages will be at end; the 
strum of the piano will succeed to the hiun of the spinning- 
wheel; the trill of the Italian opera to the nasal quaver of 
Ichabod Crane ; and the antiquarian visitor to the HoUow, in 
the petulance of his disappointment, may pronounce aU that I 
have recorded of that once favored region a fable. 

Geoffrey Ceayon. 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 

My quiet residence in the country, aloof from fashion, poli- 
tics, and the money market, leaves me rather at a loss for im- 
portant occupation, and drives me to the study of nature, and 
other low pursuits. Having few neighbors, also, on whom to 
keep a watch, and exercise my habits of observation, I am fain 
to amuse myself with prying into^the domestic concerns and 
peculiarities of the animals around me ; and, during the present 
season, have derived considerable entertainment from certain 
sociable little birds, almost the only visitors we have, during 
this early part of the year. 

Those who have passed the winter in the country, are sensi- 
ble of the dehghtful influences that accompany the earliest 
indications of spring; and of these, none are more delightful 
than the first notes of the binls. There is one modest little 
sad-colored bird, much sesembling a wren, which came about 
the house just on the skirts of winter, when not a blade of 
gi^ass was to be seen, and when a few prematurely warm days 
had given a flattenng foretaste of soft weather. He sang early 
in the dawning, long before sun-rise, and late in the evening, 
just before the closing in of night, his matin and his vesper 
hymns. It is true, he sang occasionally throughout the day; 
but at these still hours, his song was more remarked. He sat 
on a leafless tree, just before the window, and warbled forth 
his notes, free and simple, but singularly sweet, with some- 
thing of a plaintive tone, that heightened their effect. 



06 WOLFERT'S ROOST AND MISGELLANIES. 

The first morning that he was heard, was a joyous one 
among the young folks of my household. The long, death- 
hke sleep of v/inter was at an end; nature was once more 
awakening; they now promised themselves the immediate ap- 
pearance of buds and blossoms. I was reminded of the tem- 
pest-tossed crew of Columbus, when, after their long dubious 
voyage, the field bkds came singing round the ship, though 
still far at sea, rejoicing them with the belief of the im- 
mediate proximity of land. A sharp return of Avinter ahnost 
silenced my httle songster, and dashed the hilarity of the 
household; yet still he poured forth, now and then, a few 
plaintive notes, between the frosty pipings of the breeze, like 
gleams of simshine between wintry clouds. • 

I have consulted my book of ornithology in vain, to find out 
the name of this kindly little bird, who certainly deserves 
honor and favor far beyond his modest pretensions. He comes 
hke the lowly violet, the most unpretending, but welcomest of 
flowers, breathing the sweet promise of the early year. 

Another of our feathered visitors, who follows close upon 
the steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or Pe-wee, or Phoebe-bird ; 
for he is called by each of these names, from a fancied re- 
semblance to the sound of his monotonous ndte. He is a so- 
ciable httle being, and seeks the habitation of man. A pair 
of them have built beneath my porch, and have reared several 
broods there for two years past, their nest being never dis- 
turbed. They arrive early in the spring, just when the crocus 
and the snow-drop begin to peep forth. Their fii'st chirp 
spreads gladness through the nouse. " The Phoebe-birds have 
come !" is heard on all sides; they are welcomed back like mem- 
bei'B Oi! the family, and speculations are made upon where they 
have been, and what countries they have seen during their 
long absence. Their arrival is the more cheering, as it is pro- 
nounced, by the old weather-wise people of the country, the 
sure sign tliat the severe frosts are at an end, and that the 
gardener may resume his labors with confidence. 

About this time, too, arrives the blue-bird, so poetically yet 
truly described by Wilson, His appearance gladdens the 
whole landscape. You hear his soft warble in every field. He 
sociably approaches your habitation, and takes up his resi- 
dence in 5. our vicinity. But why should I attempt to describe 
him, when I have Wilison's own gi-aphic verses to place him 
before the reader? 



TLE BIRDS OF SPllIJSO. 37 

When winter's cold tempests and snows are no more, 

Green meadows and brown furrowed fields re-appearing: 
Tlie fishermen hauling theii- shad to the shoi-e, 

And cloud olf^avin'^ C^e.^e to the lakes are a- steering; 
When first the lone butterfly Hits on the wing, 

When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing, 
O then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring, 

And hails with his warblings the charms of the season. 

The loud-piping frogs.make the marshes to ring; 

Then warm glows the sunshine, and warm glows the weather; 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 

And spice-wood and sassafras budding together; 
O then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair, 

Yom- walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure; 
The blue bird will chaut from liis box such an air, 

That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure 1 

He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree, 

The red fluwering peach, and the apple's sweet blossoms; 
He snaps up destroyers, wherever they be. 

And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms; 
He drags tlie vile grub from the corn it devours. 

The worms from the webs where they riot and welter; 
His song and his services freely are ours. 

And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 

The ploughman is pleased when he gleams in his train, 

Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him; 
The gard'ner delights in his sweet simijle strain. 

And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him. 
The slow lingering school-boys forget they'll be chid. 

While gazing intent, as he warbles before them, 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red. 

That each little loiterer seems to adore him. 

The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one that rirals 
the European lark, in my estimation, is the Bobhncon, or 
Bobhnk, as he is commonly called. He arrives at that choice 
portion of our year, which, in this latitude, answers to the de- 
scription of the month of May, so often given by the poets. 
With us, it begins about the middle of May, and lasts until 
nearly the middle of June. Earlier than this, winter is apt to 
return on its traces, and to blight the opening beauties of the 
year; and later than this, begin the parching, and panting, and 
dissolving heats of summer. But in this genial interval, na- 
ture is in all her freshness and fragrance; "the rains are over 
and gone, the flowers appear upon tjie earth, the time of the 
singing of bu'ds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in 
the land." The trees are now in their fullest fohage and 
brightest verdure; the woods are gay with the clustered 
flowers of the lam^el ; the air is perfumed by the sweet-briar 



B8 WOLFEBTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

and the "svild rose ; the meadows are enamelled with clover- 
blossoms ; while the young apple, the peach, and the plum, be- 
gin to swell, and the cherry to glow, among the green leaves. 

This is the chosen sea^son of revelry of the Boblink. He 
comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of the season ; his life 
seems all sensibility and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. 
He is to be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and sweetest 
meadows; and is most in song when the CJ over is in blossom. 
He perches on the topmost twig of a tree, or on some long flaunt- 
ing weed, and as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours forth 
a succession of rich tinkhng notes ; crowding one upon another, 
Hke the outpouring melody of the skylark, and possessing the 
same rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches from the 
summit of a tree, begins his song as soon as he gets upon the 
w]^T<^, and flutters tremulously down to the earth, as if over- 
come with ecstasy at his own music. Sometimes he is in 
pursuit of his paramour; always in full song, as if he would 
win her by his melody ; and always with the same appearance 
of intoxication and delight. 

Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, the BobUnk was 
the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my path in the sweetest 
weather, and the sweetest season of the year, when all nature 
called to the fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in every 
bosom ; but when I, luckless urchin ! was doomed to be mewed 
up, during the livelong day, in that purgatory of boyhood, a 
school-room. It seemed as if the little varlet mocked at me, 
as he flew by in full song, and sought to taunt me with his 
happier lot. Oh, how I envied Mm ! No lessons, no tasks, no 
hateful school; nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields, and 
fine weather. Had I been then more versed in poetry, I might 
have addressed him in the words of Logan to the cuckoo: 

Sweet bird I thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear; 
Thou hast no sojtow in thy note, 

No winter in thy year. 

Oh! could I fly, I'd fly with thee; 

■SVe'd make, on joyful wiug:. 
Our annual visit round the globe, 

Companions of the spring! 

Farther observation and experience have given me a different 
idea of this little feathered voluptuary, which I will venture to 
impart, for the benefit of my school-boy readers, who ma^y 
regard him v/ith the same unqualified envy and admiration 
which I once indulged. I have shown him only as I saw him 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 39 

at first, in what I may call the poetical part of his career, when 
he in a manner devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoy- 
ments, and was a bu-d of music, and song, and taste, and 
sensibility, and refinement. While this lasted, he was sacred 
from injury; the very school-boy would not fling a stone at 
him, and the merest rustic would pause to hsten to his strain. 
But mark the difference. As the year advances, as the clover- 
blossoms disappear, and the spring fades into summer, his notes 
cease to vibrate on the ear. He gradually gives up his elegant 
tastes and habits, doffs his poetical and professional suit of 
black, assumes a russet or rather dusty garb, and enters into 
the gross enjoyments of common, vulgar birds. He becomes a 
bon-vivant, a mere gourmand; thinking of nothing but good 
cheer, and gormandizing on the seeds of the long grasses on 
wliich he lately s^vung, and chaunted so musically. He begins 
to think there is nothing like ''the joys of the table," if I may 
be allowed to apply that convivial phrase to his indulgences. 
He now grows discontented with plain, every-day fare, and sets 
out on a gastronomicai tour, in search of foreign luxuries. He 
is to be found in myriads among the reeds of the Delaware, 
banqueting on their seeds; grow 3 corpulent with good feeding, 
and soon acquires the unlucky renown of the ortolan. Where- 
ever he goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! the rusty firelocks of the country 
are cracking on every side ; he sees his companions falling by 
thousands around him; he is the recd-hird^ the much-sought- 
for tit'bit of the Pennsylvanian epicure. 

Does he take warning and reform? Not he! He wings his 
flight still farther south, in search of other luxuries. We hear 
of him gorging himself in the rice swamps ; filling liimself with 
rice almost to bursting; he can hardly fly for corpulency. 
Last stage of his career, we hear of him spitted by dozens, and 
served up on the table of the gourmand, the most vaunted of 
southern dainties, the rice-bird of the Cpvrolinas. 

Such is the story of the once musical and admired, but finally 
sensual and persecuted Boblink. It contains a moral, worthy 
the attention of all little birds and little boys ; warning them to 
keep to those refined and intellectual pursuits, which raised 
him to so high a pitch of popularity, during the early part of 
his career ; but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dissi- 
pated indulgence, which brought this mistaken little bii^i to an 
untimely end. 

Which is all at present, from the well-wisher of little boys 
and Kttle birds, Geoffrey Crayon. 



40 WOLFEUrS ROOSl AND MISCELLANIES,' 

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 

During a summer's residence in the old Moorish palace of the 
Alhambra, of which I have akeady given numerous anecdotes 
to the pubhc, I used to pass much of my time in the beautiful 
hall ot the Abencerrages, beside the fountain celebrated in the 
tragic story of that devoted race. Here it was, that thirty-six 
cavalier? of that heroic line were treacherously sacrificed, to 
appease the jealousy or allay the fears of a tyrant. ' The foun- 
tain which now throws up its sparkhng jet, and sheds a dewy 
freshness around, ran red with the noblest blood of Granada, 
and a deep stain on tne marble pavement is still pointed out, 
by the cicerones of the pile, as a sang-uinary record of the 
massacre. I have regarded it with the same determinad faith 
with which I have regarded the traditional stains of Rizzio's 
blood on the floor of the chamber of the unfortunate Mary, at 
Holyrood. I thank no one for endeavoring to enlighten my 
creduhty, on such points of popular belief. It is like breaking 
up the shrine of the pilgrhn ; it is robbing a poor traveller of 
half the reward of his toils ; for, strip traveUing of its historical 
illusions, and what a mere fag you make of it I 

For my part, I gave myself up, during my sojourn in the 
Alhambra, to all the romantic and fabulous traditions connected 
with the pile. I lived in the midst of an Arabian tale, and shut 
my eyes, as much as possible, to every thing that called me back 
to every-day life ; and if there is any country in Europe where 
one can do so, it is in poor, wild, legendary, proud-spirited, 
romantic Spain ; where the old magnificent barbaric spirit still 
contends against the utilitarianism of modern civilization. 

In the silent and deserted halls of the Alhambra; surrounded 
with the insignia of regal sway, and the still vivid, though 
dilapidated traces of oriental voluptuousness, I was Ji the 
strong-hold of Moorish story, and every thing spoke and 
breathed of the glorious days of Granada, when under tlie 
dominion of the crescent. When I sat in tlie hall of the Aben- 
cerrages, I suffered my mind to conjure up all that I had read 
of that illustiious line. In the proudest days of Moslem domi- 
nation, the Abencerrages were the soul, of e>v_iy tiling noble 
and chivalrous. The veterans of the fainilv, who sat in the ' 



BECOLLECTWys OF THE ALIIAMBRA. 41 

royal council, were the foremost to devise those heroic enters 
prises, which carried dismay into the territories of the Cliris- 
tians ; and what the sages of the family devised, the young 
men of the name were tiie foremost to execute. In all services 
of hazard ; in all adventurous forays, and hair-breadth hazards ; 
the Absncerrages were sure to win the brightest laurels. In 
those noble recreations, too, which bear so close an affinity to 
wai' ; in the tilt and tourney, the riding at the ring, and the 
daring bull-fight ; still the Abencerrages carried off the palm. 
None could equal them for the splendor oi' their array, the 
gallantry of their devices; for their noble bearing, and glorious 
horsemanship. Their open-lmnded munificence made them 
the idols of the populace, wliile their lofty magnanimity, and 
perfect faith, gained them golden opinions from the generous 
and high-minded. Never were tl!*ey known to decry the merits 
of a rival, or to betray the confidings of a friend; and the 
" word of an Abencerrage" was a guarantee that never admitted 
of a doubt. 

And then their devotion to the fair! Never did Moorish 
beauty consider the fame of her charms established, until she 
had an Abencerrage for a lover ; and never did an Abencerrage 
prove recreant to his vows. Lovely G-ranada ! City of delights 1 
Who ever bore the favors of thy dames more proudly on their 
casques, or championed them more gallantly in the chivalrous 
tilts of the Vivarambla? Or who ever made thy moon-lit 
balconies, thy gardens of myrtles and roses, of oranges, citrons, 
and pomegranates, respond to more tender serenades? 

I speak with enthusiasm on this theme ; for it is connected 
with the recollection of one of the sweetest evenings and 
sweetest scenes that ever I enjoyed in Spain. One of the 
greatest pleasures of the Spaniards is, to sit in the beautiful 
summer evenings, and listen to traditional baUads, and tales 
about the wars of the Moors and Christians, and the " buenas 
andanzas" and "grandes hechos," the "good fortunes" and 
" great exploits" of the hardy warriors of yore. It is worthy 
of remark, also, that many of these songs, or romances, as they 
are called, celebrate the prowess and magnanimity in war, and 
the tenderness and fidelity in love, of the Moorish cavaliers, 
once their most formidable and hated foes. But centuries have 
elapsed, to extinguish the bigotry of the zealot ; and the once 
detested warriors of Granada are now held up by Spanish 
pc*ets, as the mirrorg of chivalric \?irtuo. 

Such was the amusement of the evening in question. A 



49 WOLFLRTS BOOST AND MI8CELLANTES, 

number of us were seated in the Hall of the Abencerrages, 
listening to one of the most gifted and fascinating beings that I 
had ever met with in my wanderings. She was young and 
beautiful ; and hght and ethereal ; full of fire, and spirit, and 
l^ure enthusiasm. She wore the fanciful Andalusian dress; 
touched the guitar with speaking eloquence; improvised with 
wonderful facihty ; and, as she became excited by her thome, 
or by the rapt attention of her auditors, would pour forth, in 
the richest and most melodious strains, a succession of couplets, 
full of striking description, or stirring narration, and composed, 
as I was assured, at the moment. Most of these were suggested 
by the place, and related to the ancient glories of Granada, 
and the prowess of her chivalry. The Abencerrages were her 
favorite heroes ; she felt a woman's admiration of their gallant 
courtesy, and high-souled honor; and it was toucliing and in- 
spiring to hear the praises of that generous but devoted race, 
chaaited in this fated hall of their calamity, by the lips of 
Spanish beauty. 

Among the subjects of which she treated, was a tale of Mos- 
lem honor, and old-fashioned Spanish courtesy, which made a 
strong impression on me. She disclaimed aU merit of inven- 
tion, however, and said she had merely dilated into verse a 
popular tradition; and, indeed, I have since found the main 
facts inserted at the end of Conde's History of the Domination 
of the Arabs, and the story itself embodied in the form of an 
episode in the Diana of ]\Iontemayor. From these sources I 
have drawn it forth, and endeavored to shape it according to 
my recollection of the version of the beautiful minstrel; but, 
alas ! what can supply the want of that voice, that look, that 
form, that action, which gave magical effect to her chant, and 
held every one rapt in breathless admiration! Should this 
more travestie of her inspired numbers ever meet her eye, in ' 
her stately abode at Granada, may it meet with that indul- 
gence which belongs to her benignant nature. Happy should 
I be, if it could awaken in her bosom one kind recollection of 
the lonely stranger and sojourner, for whose gratification she 
did not think it beneath her to exert those fascinating powers 
which were the delight of briQiant circles ; and who will ever 
recall with enthusiasm the hanpy evening passed in listening 
to her strains, in the moon-Ut halls of the Alhambra. 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



THE ABb:2fVERRAGB. 43 

THE ABENCERRAGE. 

A SPANISH TALE. 

On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the mountains of 
Ronda, stands the castle oi" Allora, now a mere ruin, infested 
by bats and owlets, but in old times one of the strong border 
holds of the Christians, to keep watch upon the frontiers of the 
warhke kingdom of Granada, and to hold the Moors in check, 
ifc was a post always confided to some well-tried commander; 
and, at the time of which we treat, was held by Rodrigo de 
Narvaez, a veteran, famed, both among Moors and Christians, 
not only for his hardy feats of arms, but also for that magnani- 
mous courtesy which should ever be entwined with the sterner 
virtues of the soldier. 

The castle of Allora was a mere part of his command ; he was 
Alcayde, or military governor of Antiquera, but he passed most 
of his time at this frontier post, because its situation on the 
borders gave more frequent opportunity for those adventurous 
exploits which were the delight of the Spanish chivalry. His 
garrison consisted of fifty chosen cavahers, all well mounted 
and well appointed : with these he kept vigilant watch upon 
the Moslems; patrolling the roads, and paths, and defiles of 
the mountains, so that nothing could escape his eye ; and. now 
and then signalizing himself by some dashing foray into the 
very Vega of Granada. 

On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when the freshness 
of the evening breeze had tempered the heat of day, the 
worthy Alcayde sallied forth, with nine of his cavaliers, to 
patrol the neighborhood, and seek adventures. They rode 
quietly and cautiously, lest they should be overheard by Moor- 
ish scout or traveller ; and kept along ravines and hollow ways, 
lest they should be betrayed by the gfittering of the full moon 
upon their armor. Coming to where the road divided, the 
Alcayde directed five of his cavaliers to take one of the 
branches, while he, with the remaining four, would take the 
other. Should either party be in danger, the blast of a horn 
was to be the signal to bring their comrades to their aid. 

The party of five had not proceeded far, when, in passing 
through a defile, overhttifti^ with trees, they heard the voice of 
a man, singing. They immediately concealed themselves in 
a grove, on the l^row of a declivity, up which the stranger 



44 WOLFERTB ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

Tvoiild have to ascend. The moonhght, which left the grove in 
deep shadow, lit up the whole person of the Avayfarer, as he 
advanced, and enabled them to distinguish his dress and appear- 
ance with perfect accuracy. He was a Moorish cavaher, and 
his noble demeanor, graceful carriage, and splendid attire 
showed him to be of lofty rank. He was superbly mounted, on 
a dappje-gray steed, of powerful frame, and generous spirit, 
£md magnificently caparisoned. His dress was a marlota, or 
tunic, and an Albernoz of crimson damask, fringed v/ith gold. 
His Tunisian turban, of many folds, was of silk and cotton, 
striped, and bordered with golden fringe. At his girdle hung 
a Gcimetar of Damascus steel, with loops and tassels of silk and 
gold. On his left arm he bore an ample target, and his right 
hand grasped a long double-pointed lance. Thus equipped, he 
sat ncgUgently on liis steed, as one who dreamed of no danger, 
gazing on the moon, and singing, with a sweet and manly 
voice, a Moorish love ditty. 

Just opi)Osite the place where the Spanish cavaliers were 
concealed, was a small fountain in the rock, beside the road, 
to wliich the horse tm^ned to drink ; the rider threw the reins 
on his neck, and continued his song. 

The Spanish cavahers conferred together; they were all so 
pleased with the gallant and gentle appearance of the Moor, 
that they resolved not to harm, but to capture him, which, in 
his negligent mood, promised to be an easy task; rushing, 
therefore, from their concealment, they thought to surround 
and seize him. Never were men more mistaken. To gather 
\xp his reins, wheel round liis steed, brace his buckler, and 
couch his lance, was the work of an instant ; and there he sat, 
fixed like a castle in his saddle, beside the fountain. 

The Christian cavaliers checked their steeds and recon- 
noitred him warily, loth to come to an encounter, which must. 
cad in his destruction. 

The Moor now held a parley : " If you be true knights, " said 
lie, 'and seek for honorable fame, come on, singly, and 1 am 
ready to meet each in succession ; but if you be mere lurkers 
of the road, intent on spoil, coine all at once, and do your 
Yv-orst !" 

The cavaliers communed for a moment apart, when one, ad- 
vancing singly, ^exclaimed: "Although no law of chivalry 
obhges us to risk the loss of a prize,- ^iien clearly in our power, 
yet we willingly grant, as a courtesy, what we might refuse as 
aright. Valiant Moor! defend thyself !" 



THE ABENCERBAGE. 45 

So saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, couched his 
lance, and putting spurs to his horse, made at the stranger. 
The latter met him in mid career, transpierced him with his 
lance, and threw him headlong from his saddle. A second and 
-a third succeeded, but were unhorsed with equal facility, and 
^ thrown to the earth, severely wounded. The remaining two, 
^^-seeing then* comrades thus roughly treated, forgot all compact 
-}oi courtesy, and charged both at once upon the Moor. He 
■•parried the thrust of one, but was wounded by the other in the 
'thigh, and, in the shock and confusion, dropped his lance. 
Thus disarmed, and closely pressed, he pretended to fly, and 
was hotly pursued. Having drawn the two cavahers some dis- 
tance from the spot, he suddenly wheeled short about, v/ith one 
of those dexterous movements for which the Moorish horse- 
men are renowned ; passed swiftly between them, swung him- 
eelf down from his saddle, so as to catch up his lance, then, 
hghtly replacing himself, turned to renew the combat. 

Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just issued 
from his tent, one of the cavahers put his hps to his horn, and 
blew a blast, that soon brought the Alcayde and his four com- 
panions to the spot. 

The vahant Narvaez, seeing three of liis cavaliers extended 
on the earth, and two others hotly en&caged with the Moor, 
was struck with admiration, and coveted a contest with so ac- 
complished a warrior. Interfering in the fight, he called upon 
his followers to desist, and addressing the Moor, with courteous 
words, invited him to a more equal combat. The latter readily- 
accepted the challenge. For some time, their contest was 
fierce and doubtful, and the Alcayde had need of all his 
. skiU and strength to ward off the blows of his antagonist. 
The Moor, however, was exhausted by previous fighting, and 
by loss of blood. He no longer sat his horse firmly, nor man- 
aged him with his wonted skill. Collecting aU his strength for 
a last assault, he rose in his stirrups, and made a violent thrust 
with his lance; the Alcayde received it upon his shield, and at 
the same time wounded the Moor in the right arm ; then clos- 
ing, in the shock, he grasped him in his arms, dra-gged him 
from his saddle, and fell with him to the earth : when putting 
his knee upon his breast, and his dagger to his throat, " Cava- 
lier," exclaimed he, "render thyself my prisoner, for thy hfe is 
in my hands !" 

"Kill me, rather," replied tiie Moor, "for death would be less 
grievous than loss of liboiiy." 



46 WOLFERT'S ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

The Alcayde, however, with the clemency of the truly bi'ave, 
assisted the Moor to rise, ininistored to his wounds with his 
own hands, and had liim conveyed with great cai*e to the cas- 
tle of Allora. His woimds were slight, and in a few days were 
nearly cui-ed ; but the deepest wound had been inflicted on his 
spirit. He was constantly buried in a profound melancholy. 

The Alcayde, who had conceived a great regard for him, 
treated him more as a friend than a captive, and tried in every 
way to cheer him, but in vahi ; he was always sad and moody, 
and, when on the battlements of the castle, would keep liis eyes 
turned to the south, with a fixed and wistful gaze. 

"How is this?" exclaimed the Alcayde, reproachfully, "that 
you, who wei*e so hardy and fearless in the field, should lose all 
spirit in prison? If any secret grief preys on your heart, con- 
tide it to me, as to a fi-iend, and I promise you, on the faith of 
a cavaher, that you shall have no cause to repent the dis- 
closure." 

The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the Alcayde. ' ' Noble 
cavalier," said he "that I am cast down in spirit, is not from 
my wounds, which are slight, nor from my captivity, for your 
kindness has robbed it of all gloom ; nor from my defeat, for to 
be conquered by so accomplished and renowned a cavalier, is 
no disgrace. But to explain to you the cause of my giief, it is 
necessary to give you some particulars of my story ; and this I 
am moved to do, by the great sympathy you have manifested 
toward me, and the magnanimity that shines through all your 
auctions." 

"Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, and that I am of 
the noble but unfortunate line of the Abencerrages of Granada. 
You have doubtless heard of the destruction that fell upon our 
race. Charged with treasonable designs, of wliich they wore 
entirely imiocent, many of them Vv^ere beheaded, the rest ban- 
i'.hed ; so that not an Abencerrage was permitted to remain in 
Granada, excepting my father and my uncle, whose innocence 
-vas proved, even to the satisfaction of their persecutors. It 
was decreed, however, that, should they have childi'en, the 
f'ons should be educated at a distance from Gi'anada, and the 
daughters should be married out of the kingdom. 

" Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while yet an infant, 
to be reared in the fortress of Cartama, the worthy Alcayde of 
which was an ancient friend of my father. He had no chil- 
^kon, and ivceived me into Idb ramily as his own child, treating 
uiQ with the kindness ^ylH ;:?. fi'ectioit of a father : r»p.d I {rrewnu in 



THE ABiSNGERRAGE. 47 

the belief that >e really was such. A few years afterward, his 
wife gave birth to a daughter, but his tenderness toward me con- 
tinued undiminished. I thus grew up with Xarisa, for so the 
infant daughter of the Alcayde was called, as her own brother, 
and thought the growing passion which I felt for her, was mere 
fraternal affection. I beheld her charms unfolding, as it were, 
leaf by leaf, like the morning rose, each moment disclosing 
fresh beauty and sweetness. 

"At tiiis period, I overheard a conversation between the 
Alcayde and his confidential domestic, and found myself to be 
the subject. ' It is time, ' said he, ' to apprise him of his parent- 
age, that he may adopt a career in Hfe. I have deferred the 
communication as long as possible, through reluctance to inform 
him that he is of a proscribed and an unlucky race.' 

" This intelligence would have overwhelmed me at an earlier 
period, but the intunation that Xarisa was not my sister, oper- 
ated like magic, and in an instant transformed my brotherly 
affection into ardent love. 

" I sought Xarisa, to impart to her the secret I had learned. 
I foimd her in the garden, in a bower of jessamines, arranging 
her beautiful hair by the mirror of a crystal fountain. The 
radiance of her beauty dazzled me. I ran to her with open 
arms, and she received me with a sister's embraces. When we 
had seated ourselves beside the fountain, she began to upbraid 
me for leaving her so long alone. 

"In reply, I informed her of the conversation I had over- 
heard. "Aie recital shocked and distressed her. * Alas ! ' cried 
she, ' then is our happiness at an end ! ' 

" * How ! ' exclaimed I ; ' wilt thou cease to love me, because I 
am not thy brother? ' 

" ' Not so,' rephed she ; ' but do you not know that when it is 
Once known we are not brother and sister, we can no longer be 
permitted to be thus always together? ' 

"In fact, from that moment our intercourse took a newphar- 
aeter. We met often at the fountain among the jessamines, 
but Xarisa no longer advanced with open arms to meet me. 
She became reserved and silent, and would blush, and cast 
down her eyes, when I seated myself beside her. My heart 
became a prey to the thousand doubts and fears that ever 
attend upon true love. I was restless and uneasy, and looked 
back with regret to the unreserved intercourse that had existed 
between us, when we supposed ourselves brother and sister; 
vet I would not have had the relationship true, for the world. 



48 W0LFERT8 ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

" While matters were in this state between us, an order came 
from the King of Granada for the Alcayde to take command of 
the fortress of Coyn, which Hcs dii-ectly on the Christian fron- 
tier. He prepared to remove, with all his family, but signified 
that I should remain at Cartama. I exclaimed against the 
separation, and declared that I could not be parted from 
Xarisa. ' That is the very cause,' said he, ' why I leave thee 
behind. It is thue, Abendaraez, that thou shouldst know the 
secret of thy birth ; that thou art no son of mine, neither is 
Xarisa thy sister.' * I know it all,' exclauned I, ' and I love her 
with tenfold the affection of a brother. You have brought us 
up together; you have made us necessary to each other's hap- 
piness ; our hearts kave entwined themselves with our gi'owth ; 
do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the measure of your 
kindness ; be indeed a father to me, by giving me Xarisa for 
my wife.' 

"The brow of the Alcayde darkened as I spoke. 'Have I 
then been deceived?' said he. 'Have those nurtured in my 
very bosom been conspirmg against me? Is this your return 
for my paternal tenderness? — to beguile the affections of my 
child, and teach her to deceive her father? It was cause enough 
to refuse thee the hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a 
proscribed race, who can never approach the walls of Granada; 
this, however, I might have passed over; but never will I give 
my daughter to a man who has endeavored to win her from me 
by deception,' 

' ' AU my attempts to vidicate myself and Xarisa were unavail- 
ing. I retired in anguish from his presence, and seeking 
Xarisa, told her of this blow, which was worse than death to 
me. ' Xarisa, ' said I, ' we part for ever ! I shall never see thee 
more ! Thy father wiU guard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and his 
wealth will soon attract some happier rival, and I shall be for- 
gotten ! ' 

" Xarisa reproached me with my want of faith, and promised 
me eternal constancy. I still doubted and desponded, until, 
moved by my anguish and despair, she agreed to a secret 
union. Our espousals made, wo parted, with a promise on her 
part to send me word from Coyn, should her father absent him- 
self from the fortress. The very day after our secret nuptials, 
I beheld the whole train of the Alcayde depart from Cartama, 
nor would he admit me to his presence, or permit me to bid 
farewell to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, somewhat pacified 
in spirit by this secret bond of union ; but every thing around 



THE ABENCEREAQE. 49 

me fed my passion, and reminded me of Xarisa. I saw the 
windows at which I had so often beheld her. I wandered 
through the apartment she had inhabited; the chamber in 
which she had slept. I visited the bower of jessamines, and 
lingered beside the fountain in which she had dehghted. Every 
thing recalled her to my imagination, and filled my heart with 
tender melancholy. 

"At length, a confidential servant brought me word, that her 
father was to depart that day for Granada, on a short absence, 
inviting me to hasten to Coyn, describing a secret portal at 
which I should apply, and the signal by which 1 would obtain 
admittance. 

'If ever you have loved, most valiant Alcayde, you may 
judge of the transport of my bosom. That very night I arrayed 
myself in my most gallant attire, to pay due honor to my bride ; 
and arming myself against any casual attack, issued forth pri- 
vately from Oartama. You know the rest, and by what sad 
fortune of war I found myself, instead of a happy bridegroom, 
in the nuptial ' ower of Coyn, vanquished, wounded, and a 
prisoner, withing the waUs of Allora. The term of absence of 
the father of Xarisa is nearly expired. Within three days ho 
will return to Coyn, and our meeting wiU no longer be possible. 
Judge, then, whether I grieve without cause, and whether I 
may not well be excused for showing impatience imder confine- 
ment." 

Don Rodrigo de Narvaez was greatly moved by this recital ; 
for, though more used to rugged war, than scenes of amorous 
softness, he was of a kind and generous nature. 

" Abenderaez," said he, "I did not seek thy confidence to 
gratify an idle curiosity. It grieves me much that the good 
fortune which delivered thee into my hands, should have marred 
so fair an enterprise. Give me thy faith, as a true knight, to 
return prisoner to my castle, within three days, and I will 
gi'ant thee permission to accomplish thy nuptials." 

The Abencerrage would have throAvn himself at his feet, to 
pour out protestations of eternal gratitude, but the Alcayde 
prevented him. Calling in his cavaliers, he took the Abencer- 
rage by the right hand, in their presence, exclaiming solemnly, 
"You promise, on the faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle 
of Allora within three days, and render yourself my prisoner?" 
And the Abencerrage said, "I promise." . ./_ 

Then said the Alcayde, "Go! and may good fortune attend 



50 WOLFERTS HOOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

you. If you require any safeguard, I and my cavaliers are 
ready to be your companions." 

The Abencerrage kissed the liand of the Alcayde, in grateful 
acknowledgment. "Give me," said he, "my own armor, 
and my steed, and I require no guard. It is not Mkely that I 
shall again meet with so valorous a foe. " 

The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp of the dapplc- 
gTay steed sounded over the drawbiidge, and immediately 
afterward the light clatter of hoofs along the road, bespoke the 
fieetness with which the youtliful lover hastened to his bride. 
It was deep night when the Moor arrived at the castle of Coyn. 
He silently and cautiously walked his panting steed under its 
dark walls, and having nearly passed round them, came to the 
portal denoted by Xarisa. He paused and looked around to 
see that he was not observed, and then knocked three times 
with the butt of his lance. In a little while the portal was 
timidly unclosed by the duenna of Xarisa. "Alas! senor," 
said she, "what has detained you thus long? Every night have 
I watched for you ; and my lady is sick at heart with doubt 
and anxiety." 

The Abencerrage hung his lance, and shield, and scimitar 
against the wall, and then followed the duenna, with silent 
steps, up a winding stair-case, to the apartment of Xarisa. 
Vain would be the attempt to describe the raptures of that 
meeting. Time, flew too s^vLftly, and the Abencerrage had 
nearly forgotten, until too Jate, his promise to return a prisoner 
to the Alcayde of Allora. The recollection of it came to him 
with a pang, and suddenly awoke him from his dream of bliss. 
Xarisa saw his altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled 
sighs; but her countenance brightened, when she heard the 
cause. " Let not thy spirit be cast down," said she, throwing 
her white arms around him. "I have the keys of my father's 
treasures; send ransom more than enough to satisfy the Chris- 
tian, and remain with me." . 

..."-No^" said Abondaraez. " I have given my word to return m 
person, and Uke a true knight, must fulfil my promise. After 
that, fortune musfc do with me as it pleases." 

"Then," said Xarisa, "I will accompany thee. Never shall 
you return a prisoner, and I remain at liberty." 

The Abencerrage was transported with joy at this new proof 
of devotion in his beautiful biide. All preparations wore 
speedily made for their departure. Xarisa mounted behind the 
Moor, on his powerful steed ; they left the castle walls before 



THE ABEjS'VEBRAGE. 51 

daybreak, nor did they pause, until they arrived at the gate of 
the castle of AUora, which was flung wide to receive them. 

AUghting in the court, the Abencerrage supported the ste|36 of 
bis trembhng bride, who remained closely veiled, into the pres- 
ence of Rodrigo de Narvaez. " Behold, vahant Alcaydel" said 
he, " the way in wliich an Abencerrage keeps his word. I pro- 
mised to return to thee a prisoner, but I deliver two captives 
into your power. Behold Xarisa, and judge whether I grieved 
without reason, over the loss of such a treasure. Receive us 
as your own, for I confide my hie and her honor to your 
hands." 

The Alcay de was lost in admiration of the beauty of the lady, 
and the noble spu-it of the Moor. "I know not," said he, 
' ' wliich of you surpasses the other ; but I know that my castle 
is graced and honored by your presence. Enter into it, and 
consider it your own, while you deign to reside with me." 

For several days the lovers remained at Allora, happy in 
each other's love, and in the friendship of the brave Alcayde. 
The latter wrote a letter, full of courtesy, to the Moorish king 
of Granada, relating the v\^hole event, extolling the valor and 
good faith of the Abencerrage, and craving for liim the royal 
countenance. 

The king was moved by the story, and was pleased with an 
opportunity of showing attention to the wishes of a gallant and 
chivalrous enemy ; for though he had often suffered from the 
prowess of Don Rodigro de Narvaez, he admired the heroic 
character he had gained throughout the land. Calhng the Al- 
cayde of Coyn into his presence, he gave him the letter to read. 
The Alcayde turned pale, and trembled with rage, on the perusal. 
"Restrain thine anger," said the king; "there is nothing that 
the Alcayde of Allora could asli, that I would not grant, if in 
my power. Go thou to Allora; pardon thy children; take them 
to thy home. I receive this Abencerrage into my favor, and it 
will be my delight to heap benefits upon you all." 

The kindling ire of the Alcayde was suddenly appeased. He 
hastened to Allora ; and folded his children to his bosom, who 
would have fallen at his feet. The gallant Rodrigo de Nar- 
vaez gave liberty to his prisoner without ransom, demanding 
merely a promise of his friendship. He accompanied the youth- 
ful couple and their father to Coyn, where their nuptials were 
celebrated with great rejoicings. When the festivities were 
over, Don Rodrigo de Narvaez returned to his fortress of Allora. 

After his departure, the Alcayde of Qc'Yw nddrossed lti3 . 



52 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES: 

children: "To your hands," said he, **I confide the disposi- 
tion of my wealth. One of the first things I charge you, is not 
to forget the ransom you owe to the Alcayde of Allora. His 
magnanimity you can never repay, but you can prevent it from 
wronging him of his just dues. Give him, moreover, your 
entii-c friendship, for he merits it fuUy, though of a different 
faith." 

The Abencerrage thanked him for his generous proposition, 
which so truly accorded with his own wishes. He took a large 
sum of gold, and enclosed it in a rich coffer ; and, on his own 
part, sent six beautiful horses, superbly caparisoned ; with six 
shields and lances, mounted and embossed with gold. The 
beautiful Xarisa, at the same time, wrote a letter to the 
Alcayde, filled with expressions of gratitude and friendship, and 
sent hun a box of fragrant cypress-wood, containing linen, of 
the finest quahty, for his person. The vahant Alcayde dis- 
j)Osed of the present in a characteristic manner. The horses 
and armor he shared among the cavaliers who had accompanied 
him on the night of the skirmish. The box of cypress-wood 
and its contents he retained, for the sake of the beautiful 
Xarisa ; and sent her, by the hands of a messenger, the sum of 
gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to receive it as a .wedding 
present. This courtesy and magnanimity raised the character 
of the Alcayde Rodrigo de Narvaez still higher in the estima- 
tion of the Moors, who extolled him as a perfect mirror of chi- 
valric virtue ; and from that time forward, there was a con- 
tinual exchange of good offices between them. 



THE ENCHAMTED iSLAlill). 53 

THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 

Break, Phantsie, from thy cave of cloud. 

And wave thy purple >vings. 
Now all thy figures are allowed, 

Aiid various shapes of things. 
Create of airy forms a stream; 

It must have blood and nought of phlegm; 
And though it be a walking dream, 

Yet let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here, 
And fall hke sleep upon their eyes. 

Or music on their ear.— Ben Jonson. 

'* There are more things in heaven and earth than are 
dreamed of in our philosophy," and among these may bo 
placed that marvel and mystery of the seas, the island of St. 
Brandan. Every school-boy can enumerate and call by name 
the Canaries, the Fortunate Islands of the ancients; which, 
according to some ingenious speculative minds, are mere 
cwrccks and remnants of the vast island of Atalantis, men- 
tioned by Plato, as having been swallowed up by the ocean. 
Whoever has read the history of those isles, Avill remember 
the wonders told of another island, still more beautiful, seen 
occasionally from their shores, stretching away in the clear 
bright west, with long shadowy promontories, and high, sun- 
gilt peaks. Numerous expeditions, both in ancient and modern 
days, have launched forth from the Canaries in quest of that 
island ; but, on their approach, mountain and promontory have 
gradually faded away, until nothing has remained but the blue 
sky above, and the deep blue water below. Hence it was 
termed by the geographers of old, Aprositus, or the Inaccessi- 
ble ; while modern navigators have called its very existence in 
question, pronouncing it a mere optical illusion, hke the Fata 
Morgana of the Straits of Messina; or classing it with those 
unsubstantial regions known to mariners as Cape Flyaway, 
and the Coast of Cloud Land. 

Let not, however, the doubts of the worldly-wise sceptics of 
modem days rob us of aU the glorious realms owned by happy 
creduUty in dsiys of yore. Be assured, O reader of easy faith 1 
— ^thou for whom I delight to labor— be assured, that such an 
island does actually exist, and has, from time to time, been 



54 WOLVERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

revealed to the gaze, and trodden by the feet, of favored 
mortals. Nay, though doub^^ed bj historians and philosophers, 
its existence is fully attested by the poets, who, being an in- 
spired race, and gifted with a kind of second sight, can see 
in.to the mysterie^ of nature, hidden from the eyes of ordinary 
mortals. Tt 'his gifted race it has ever been a region of fancy 
and romance, teeming with all kinds of wonders. Hero once 
bloomed, and perhaps stiQ blooms, the famous garden of the 
Hesperides, with its golden fruit. Here, too, was the enchanted 
garden of Armida, in which that sorceress held the Christian 
paladin, Einaldo, in dehcious but inglorious thraldom; as is 
set forth in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was on this island, 
also, that Sycorax, the w4tch, held sway, when the good Pros- 
pero, and his infant daughter Miranda, were wafted to its 
shores. The isle was then 

" full of noises, 

Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not." 

Who does not know the tale, as told in the magic page of 
Shakspeare? 

In fact, the island appears to have been, at different times, 
under the sway of different pov/ers, genii of earth, and air, 
and ocean ; who made it theii' shadowy abode ; or rather, it is 
tlie retiring place of old worn-out deities and dynasties, that 
once ruled the poetic world, but are now nearly shorn of aU 
their attributes. Here Neptune and Amphitrite hold a dimi- 
nished court, Hke sovereigns in exile. Their ocean-ehariot 
lies bottom upward, in a cave of the island, ahnost a perfect 
wreck, while their pursy Tritons and haggard Nereids bask 
listlessly, Hke seals about the rocks. Sometimes they assume 
a sliadow of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about the 
glassy sea; while the crew of some tall Indiaman, that lies 
becalmed with flapping sails, hear with astonishment the' 
meUow note of the Triton's sheU sweUing upon the ear, as the 
invisible pageant sweeps by. Sometimes the quondam mon- 
arch of the ocean is permitted to make himself visible to 
mortal eyes, visiting the ships that cross the hue, to exact a 
tribute from new-comers ; the only remnant of his ancient rule, 
and that, alas! performed with tattered state, and tarnished 
splendor. 

On the shores of tliis wondrous island, the mighty kralsen 
heaves his bulk, and wallows many a rood ; here, too, the sea- 
Lorpent lies coiled i;p, durinf; the intervals of hfe much ron 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 55 

tested revelations to the eyes of true believers ; and here, it is 
said, even the Flying Dutchman finds a port, and casts his 
anchor, and furls his shadowy sail, and takes a short repose 
from his eternal wanderiiAgs. 

Here all the treasures lost in the deep are safely garnered. 
The caverns of the shores are piled with golden ingots, boxes 
of pearls, rich bales of oriental silks ; and their deep recesses 
sparkle with diamonds, or flame with carbuncles. Here, in 
deep bays and harbors, hes many a spell-bound ship, long 
given up as lost by the ruined merchant. Here, too, its crew, 
long bewailed as swallowed up in ocean, lie sleeping in mossy 
grottoes, from age to age, or wander about enchanted shores 
and groves, in pleasing oblivion of all things. 

Such are some of the marvels related of tliis island, and 
which may serve to throw some light on the following legend, 
of unquestionable truth, which I recommend to the entire 
beUef of the reader. 



THE ADELANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 

A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN. 

In the early part of the fifteenth century, when Prince 
Henry of Portugal, of worthy memory, was pusliing the ca:"ecr 
of discovery along the western coast of Africa, and the world 
was resounding with reports of golden regions on the main 
land, and new-found islands in the ocean, there arrived at 
Lisbon an old bewildered pilot of the seas, who had been 
driven by tempests, he knew not whither, and who raved 
about an island far in the deep, on which he had landed, and 
which he had found peopled vnih. Christians, and adorned with 
noble cities. 

The inhabitants, he said, gathered round, and regarded him 
with suL'prise, having never before been visited by a ship. 
They told him they were descendants of a band of Christians, 
who fled from Spain when that country was conquered by the 
Moslems. They were curious about the state of their father- 
land, and grieved to hear that the Moslems still hold possession 
of the kingdom of Granada. They would have talicn the old 
navigator to church, to convince him of their orthodoxy; but, 
either through lack of devotion, or lack of faith in their words, 
he declined their invitation, and preferred to return on board 
of his sliip. He was properly punished. A furious storm 



56 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

arose, drove liim from his anchorage, hurried him out to sea, 
and he saw no more of the unknown island. 

This strange story caused great marvel in Lisbon and else- 
where. Those versed in history, remembered to have read, in 
an ancient chronicle, that, at the time of the conquest of Spain, 
in the eighth century, when the blessed cross was cast down, 
and the crescent erected in its place, and when Christian 
churches were turned mto Moslem mosques, seven bishops, at 
the head of seven bands of pious exiles, had fled from the 
peninsula, and embark«3d in quest of some ocean island, or dis- 
tant land, where they might found seven Christian cities, and 
enjoy their faith unmolested. 

The fate of these pious saints errant had hitherto remained a 
mystery, and their story had faded from memory ; the report 
of the old tempest-tossed pilot, however, revived this long-for- 
gotten theme ; and it was determined by the pious and enthusi- 
astic, that the island thus accidentally discovered, was the 
identical place of refuge, whither the wandering bishops had 
been guided by a protecting Providence, and where they had 
folded their flocks. 

This most excitable of worlds has always some darhng object 
of chimerical enterprise: the "Island of the Seven Cities" now 
awakened as much interest and longing among zealous Chris- 
tians, as has the renowned city of Timbuctoo among adven- 
turous travellers, or the North-east Passage among hardy 
navigators ; and it was a frequent prayer of the devout, that 
these scattered and lost portions of the Christian family might 
be discovered, and reunited to the great body of Christendom. 

No one, however, entered into the matter with half the zeal 
of Don Fernando de Ulmo, a young cavaHer of high standing 
in the Portuguese court, and of most sanguine and romantic 
temperament. He had recently come to his estate, and had 
run the round of all kinds of pleasures and excitements, when 
this new theme of popular talk and wonder presented itself. 
The Island of the Seven Cities becanob© now the constant sub- 
ject of his thourihts by day and his dreams by night ; it even 
rivalled his passion for a beautiful girl, one of the greatest 
belles of Lisbon, to whom he was betrothed. At length his 
imagination became so inflamed on the subject, that he deter- 
mined to fit out an expedition, at his own expense, and set sail 
in quest of this sainted island. It could not be a cruise of any 
great extent ; for according to the calculations of the tempest- 
tossed pilot, it must be somewhere in the latitude of the Cana- 



i 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 57 

ries; which at that tune, when the new world was as yet 
undiscovered, formed the frontier of ocean enterprise. Don 
Fernando apphed to the crown for countenance and protection. 
As he was a favorite at court, the usual patronage was readily 
extended to him ; that is to say, he received a conunission from 
the king, Don loam II. , constituting him Adelantado, or mih- 
tary governor, of any country he might discover, with the 
single proviso, that he should bear ail the expenses of the dis- 
covery and iDay a tenth of the profits to the crown. 

Don Fernando now set to work in the true spirit of a projec- 
tor. He sold acre after acre of solid land, and invested the 
proceeds in ships, guns, anununition, and sea-stores. Even his 
old family mansion in Lisbon was mortgaged without scruple, 
for he looked forward to a palace in one of the Seven Cities of 
which he was to be Adelantado. This was the age of nautical 
romance, when the thoughts of aU speculative dreamers were 
turned to the ocean. The scheme of Don Fernando, therefore, 
drew adventurers of every kind. The merchant promised 
himseK new marts of opulent traffic ; the soldier hoped to sack 
and plunder some one or other of those Seven Cities ; even the 
fat monk shook off the sleep and sloth of the cloister, to jom in 
a crusade which promised such increase to the possessions of 
the church. 

One person alone regarded the whole project with sovereign 
contempt and growling hostility. This was Don Ramiro Al- 
varez, the father of the beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fer- 
nando was betrothed. He was one of those perverse, matter- 
of-fact old men who are prone to oppose every thing speculative 
and romantic. He had no faith in the Island of the Seven 
Cities ; regarded the projected cruise as a crack-brained freak ; 
looked with angry eye and internal heart-burning on the con- 
duct of his intended son-in-law, chaffering away solid lands for 
lands in the moon, and scoffingly dubbed him Adelantado of 
Lubberland. In fact, he had never really relished the intended 
match, to which his consent had been slowly extorted by the 
tears and entreaties of his daughter. It is time he could have 
no reasonable objections to the youth, for Don Fernando was 
the very flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one could excel 
him at the tilting match, or the riding at the ring ; none was 
more bold and dexterous in the bull-fight ; none composed more 
gallant madrigals in praise of his lady's charms, or sang them 
with sweeter tones to the accompaniment of her guitar ; nor 
could anv one handle the castanets and dance the bolero with 



58 WOLFERTS ROOST A2i'D MISCELLANIES. 

more captivating grace. All these admirable qualities and 
endowments, however, though they had been sufficient to win 
the heart of Seraiina, were nothing in the eyes of her um-eason- 
able father. O Cupid, god of Love ! why will fathers always 
be so unreasonable I 

The engagement to Serafina had threatened at first to throw 
an obstacle in the way of the expedition of Don Fernando, and 
for a time perplexed him in the extreme. He was passionately 
attached to the young lady ; but he was also passionately bent 
on this romantic enterprise. How should he reconcile the two 
passionate inclinations? A simple and obvious arrangement at 
length presented itself: marry Serafina, enjoy a portion of the 
honeymoon at once, and defer the rest until his return from 
the discovery of the Seven Cities ! 

Be hastened to make known this most excellent arrange- 
ment to Don Ramiro, when the long-smothered wrath of the 
old cavalier burst forth in a storm about his ears. He re- 
proached him with being the dupe of wandering vagabonds 
and wild schemers, and of squandering all his real possessions 
in pm-suit of empty bubbles. Don Fernando was too sanguine 
a projector, and too young a man, to listen tamely to such 
language. He o.cted with what is technically called ' ' becoming 
spirit. " A high quarrel ensued ; Don Ramiro pronounced hun 
a mad man, and forbade all farther intercourse with his 
daughter, until he should give proof of returning sanity by 
abandoning this mad-cap enterprise; while Don Fernando 
flung out of the house, more bent than ever on the expedition, 
from the idea of triumphing over the incredulity of the gray- 
beard when he should return successful. 

Don Ramiro repaired to his daughter's chamber the moment 
the youth had departed. He represented to her the sanguine, 
unsteady character of her lover and the chimerical nature of 
his schemes ; showed her the propriety of suspending all inter- 
course with him until he should recover from his present 
hallucination ; folded her to his bosom with parental fondness, 
kissed the tear that stole down her check, and, as he left the 
chamber, gently locked the door ; for although he was a fond 
father, and had a high opinion of the submissive temper of his 
cliild, he had a still higher opinion of the conservative virtues 
of lock and key. Whether the damsel had been in any wise 
shaken in her faith as to the schemes of her lover, and the 
existence of the Island of the Seven Cities, by the sage repre- 
sentations of her father, tradition does not sav : hwt it is cei-taiii 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 59 

that she became a firm believer the momient she heard him 
turn the key in the lock. 

Notwithstanding the interdict of Don Eamiro, therefore, and 
his shrewd precautions, the intercourse of the lovers continued, 
although clandestinely. Don Fernando toiled all day, hurrying 
forward his nautical enterprise, while at night he would repair, 
beneath the grated balcony of his mistress, to carry on at equal 
pace the no less interesting enterprise of the heart. At length 
the preparations for the expedition were completed. Two gal- 
lant caravels lay anchored in the Tagus, ready to sail with the 
morning dawn ; while late at night, by the pale light of a wan- 
ing moon, Don Feruando sought the stately mansion of Alvarez 
to take a last farewell of Serafina. The customary signal of a 
few low touches of a guitar brought her to the balcony. She 
was sad at heart and full of gloomy forebodings ; but her lover 
strove to impart to her his own buoyant hope and youthful 
confidence. ' ' A few short months, " said he, ' ' and I shall return 
in triumph. Thy father will then blush at his incredulity, and 
will once more welcome me to his house, when I cross its 
threshold a wealthy suitor and Adelantado of the Seven Cities." 

The beautiful Serafina shook her head mournfully. It was 
not on those points that she felt doubt or dismay. She believed 
most implicitly in the Island of the Seven Cities, and trusted 
devoutly in the success of the enterprise ; but she had heard of 
the inconstancy of the seas, and the inconstancy of those who 
roam them. Now, let the truth be spoken, Don Fernando, if 
he had any fault in the world, it was that he was a little too 
inflammable; that is to say, ahttle too subject to take fire from 
the sparkle of every bright eye : he had been somewhat of a 
rover among the sex on shore, what might he not be on sea? 
Might he not meet with other loves in foreign ports? Might he 
not behold some peerless beauty in one or other of those seven 
cities, who might efface the image of Serafina from his 
thoughts? 

At length she ventured to hint her doubts ; but Don Fernando 
spurned at the very idea. Never could his heart be false to 
Serafina! Never could another be captivatmg in his eyes! — 
never— never ! Repeatedly did he bend his knee, and smite his 
breast, and caU upon the silver moon to witness the sincerity of 
his vows. But might not Serafina, herself, be forgetful of her 
plighted faith? Might not some wealthier rival present, while 
he was tossing on the sea, and, backed by the authority of her 
father, win the treasure of her hand? 



60 WOLFERT'S BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

Alas, how little did he know Serafina's heart ! The more her 

father should oppose, the more would she be fixed in her faith. 
Though years should pass before his return, he would find her 
true to her vows. Even should the salt seas swallow him up, 
(and her eyes streamed with salt tears at the very thought,) 
never would she be the wife of another — never— never ! She 
raised her beautiful white arms between the iron bars of the 
balcony, and tavoked the moon as a testimonial of her faith. 

Thus, according to immemorial usage, the lovers parted, with 
many a vow of eternal constancy. But will they keep those 
vows? Perish the doubt! Have they not caUed the constant 
moon to witness? 

With the morning dawn the caravels dropped down the 
Tagus and put to sea. They steered for the Canaries, in those 
days the regions of nautical romance. Scarcely had they 
reached those latitudes, when a violent tempest arose. Don 
Fernando soon lost sight of the accompanying caravel, and was 
driven out of all reckoning by the fury of the storm. For 
several weary days and nights he was tossed to and fro, at the 
mercy of the elements, expecting each moment to be swallowed 
up. At length, one day toward evening, the storm subsided ; 
the clouds cleared up, as though a veil had suddenly been with- 
drawn from the face of heaven, and the setting sun shone 
gloriously upon a fair and mountainous island, that seemed 
close at hand. The tempest-tossed mariners rubbed their 
eyes, and gazed almost incredulously upon this land, that had 
emerged so suddenly from the murky gloom ; yet there it lay, 
spread out in lovely landscapes; enlivened by villages, and 
towers, and spires, while the late stormy sea rolled in peaceful 
billows to its shores. About a league from the sea, on the 
banks of a river, stood a noble city, with lofty walls and towersr, 
and a protecting castle. Don Fernando anchored off the mouth 
of the river, which appeared to form a spacious harbor. In a 
little while a barge was seen issuing from the river. It was 
evidently a barge of ceremony, for it was richly though quaintly 
carved and gilt, and decorated with a silken awning and flutter- 
ing streamers, while a banner, bearing the sacred emblem of 
the cross, floated to the breeze. The barge advanced slowly, 
hnpelled by sixteen oars, painted of a bright crimson. The 
oarsmen were luicouth, or rather antique, in their garb, and 
kept stroke to the regular cadence of an old Spanish ditty. Be- 
neath the awning sat a cavalier, ui a rich though old-fashioned 
doublet, with an enormous sombrero and feather. 



TUE ENCHANTED J8LAND. 61 

When the barge reached the caravel, the cavaher stepped on 
board. He was tall and gaunt, with a long, Spanish visage 
and lack-lustre eyes, and an air of lofty and somewhat pompous 
gravity. His mustaches were curled up to his ears, Ms beard 
was forked and precise ; he wore gauntlets that reached to his 
elbows, and a Toledo blade that strutted out behind, wliile, 
in front, its huge basket-hilt might have served for a por- 
ringer. 

Thrusting out a long spindle leg, and taking off his sombrero 
with a grave and stately sweep, he saluted Don Fernando by 
name, and welcomed him, in old Castilian language, and in the 
style of old Castilian courtesy. 

Don Fernando was startled at hearing himself accosted by 
name, by an utter stranger, in a strange land. As soon as he 
could recover from his surprise, he inquired what land it was at 
which he had arrived. 

"The Island of the Seven Cities !" 

CoLild this be true? Had he indeed been thus tempest-driven 
upon the very land of which he was in quest? It was even so. 
The other caravel, from which he had been separated in the 
storm, had made a neighboring port of the island, and an- 
nounced the tidings of this expedition, which came to restore 
the country to the gi'«at community of Christendom. The 
whole island, he was told, was given up to rejoicings on tlie 
happy event ; and they only awaited his arrival to acknowledge 
allegiance to the crown of Portugal, and hail him as Adelantado 
of the Seven Cities. A grand fete was to be solemnized that 
very night in the palace of the Alcayde or governor of the city ; 
who, on beholding the most opportune arrival of the caravel, 
had despatched his grand chamberlain, in his barge of state, to 
conduct the future Adelantado to the ceremony. 

Don Fernando could scarcely beheve but that tbis was aU a 
dream. He fixed a scrutinizing gaze upon the grand chamber- 
lain, who, having delivered his message, stood in buckram dig- 
nity, drawn up to his full stature, curling his whiskers, stroking 
his beard, and looking down upon him with inexpressible lofti- 
ness through his lack-lustre eyes. There was no doubting the 
word of so grave and ceremonious a hidalgo. 

Don Fernando now arrayed himseK in gala attire. He "\^ould 
have launched his boat, and gone on shore with his own men, 
but he was informed the barge of state vras expressly provided 
for his accommodation, and, after the fete, would bring him 
back to his ship ; in which, on the following day, he might enter 



02 WOLFERT'S ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

the harbor in befitting style. He accordingly stepped into the 
barge, and took his seat beneath the awning. The grand 
chaniberkiin seated himself on the cushion opposite. The 
rowers bent to their oars, and renewed their mournfxil old 
ditty, and the gorgeous, but unwieldy barge moved slowly and 
solemnly through the water. 

The night closed in, before they entered the river. They 
swept along, past rock and promontory, each guarded by its 
tower. The sentinels at every post challenged them as they 
passed by. 

" Who goes there ?" 

"The Adelantado of the Seven Cities." 

" He is welcome. Pass on. " 

On entering the harbor, they rowed close along an armed 
galley, of the most ancient form. Soldiers with cross-bows 
wore stationed on the deck. 

''Who goes there ?" was again demanded. 

*' The Adelantado of the Seven Cities." 

" He is welcome. Pass on." 

They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, leading up, be- 
tween two massive towers, to the water-gate of the city, at 
which they knocked for admission. A sentinel, in an ancient 
steel casque, looked over the wall. "Who is there ?" 

" The Adelantado of the Seven Cities." 

The gate swung slowly open, gi'ating upon its rusty hinges. 
They entered between two rows of iron-clad warriors, in bat- 
tered armor, with cross-bows, battle-axes, and ancient maces, 
and with faces as old-fashioned and rusty as their ai^mor. They 
saluted Don Fernando in military style, but with perfect silence, 
as he passed between their ranks. The city was illuminated, 
but in such manner as to give a more shadowy and solemn 
eiiect to its old-time architecture. There were bonfires in the 
principal streets, with groups about them in such old-fashioned 
garbs, that they looked like the fantastic figures that roam the 
streets in carnival time. Even the stately dames who gazed 
from the balconies, which they had hung with antique tapestry, 
looked more like effigies dressed up for a quaint mummery, 
than like ladies in their fashionable attire. Every thing, in 
short, bore tlie stamp of former ages, as if the world had sud- 
denly rolled back a few centuries. Nor was this to be wondered 
at. Had not the Island of the Se^-en Cities been for several 
hundred years cut off from all communication ^vith the rest of 
the world, and was it not natural that the inhabitants should 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 63 

retain many of the modes and customs bronght here by their 
ancestors ? 

One thing certainly they had conserved; the old-fashioned 
Spanish gi-avity and stateliness. Though this was a time of 
public rejoicing, and though Don Fernando, was the object of 
their gratulations, every thing was conducted with the most 
solemn ceremony, and \Therever he appeared, instead of accla- 
mations, he was received with profound silence, and the most 
formal reverences and swayings of their sombreros. 

Arrived at the palace of the Alcayde, the usual ceremonial 
was repeated. The chamberlain knocked for admission. 

" Who is there ? " demanded the porter. 

" The Adelantado of the Seven Cities." 

" He is welcome. Pass on." 
; ; Tlie grand portal was thrown open. The chamberlain led the 
'^ay up a vast but heavily moulded marble stair-case, and so 
through one of those interminable suites of apartments, that 
are the pride of Spanish palaces. All were furnished in a style 
of obsolete magnificence. As they passed through the cham- 
bers, the title of Don Fernando was forwarded on by servants 
stationed at every door ; and every where produced the most 
profoimd reverences and courtesies. At length they reached a 
magnificent saloon, blazing with tapers, in which the Alcayde, 
and the principal dignitaries of the city, were waiting to receive 
their illustrious guest. The grand chamberlain presented Don 
Fernando in due form, and falling back among the other 
oflScers of the household, stood as usual curling liis whiskers 
and stroking his forked beard. 

Don Fernando was received by the Alcayde and the other 
dignitaries with the same stately and formal courtesy that he 
had every where remarked. In fact, there was so much form 
and ceremonial, that it seemed difficult to get at any thing 
social or substantial. Nothing but bows, and compliments, and 
old-fashioned courtesies. The xllcayde and his courtiers resem- 
bled, in face and form, those quaint worthies to be seen in the 
pictures of old illuminated manuscripts; while the cavaliers 
and dames who thronged the saloon, might have been taken 
for the antique figures of gobehn tapestry suddenly vivified 
and put in motion. 

The banquet, wliich had been kept back until the arrival of 
Don Fernando, was now announced; and such a feastj such 
unknown dishes and obsolete dainties ; with the peacock, that 
bird of state and ceremony, served up in full plumage, in a 



64 W0LFKRT3 ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

golden disli, at the head of the table. And then, as Don Fer- 
nando cast his eyes over the ghttering board, what a vista of 
odd heads and head-dresses, of formal bearded dignitaries, and 
stately dames, with castellated locks and towering plumes ! 

As fate would have it, on the other side of Don Fernando, 
was soated the daughter of the Alcayde. She was arrayed, it 
is true, in a dress that might have been worn before the flood ; 
but then, she had a melting black Andalusian eye, that was 
perfectly irresistible. Her voice, too, her manner, her move- 
ments, all smacked of Andalusia, and showed how female fas- 
cination may be transmitted from age to age, and clime to 
clime, without ever losing its power, or going out of fashion. 
Those who knoAV the witchery of the sex, in that most amorous 
region of old Spain, may judge what must have been the fasci- 
nation to which Don Fernando was exposed, when seated beside 
one of the most captivating of its descendants. He was, as has 
already been hinted, of an inflammable temperament; with a 
heart ready to get in a light blaze at every instant. And then 
he had been so wearied by pompous, tedious old cavaliers, with 
their formal bows and speeches ; is it to be wondered at that he 
turned with delight to the Alcayde's daughter, all smiles, and 
dimples, and melting looks, and melting accents ? Beside, for 
I wish to give him every excuse in my power, he was in a par- 
ticularly excitable mood, from the novelty of the scene before 
him, and his head was almost turned with this sudden and 
complete realization of all his hopes and fancies ; and then, in 
the flurry of the moment, he had taken frequent draughts at 
the wine-cup, presented him at every instant by oflScious pages, 
and all the world knows the effect of such draughts in giving 
potency to female charms. In a word, there is no concealing 
the matter, the banquet was not half over, before Don Fernan- 
do vv^as making love, outright, to the Alcayde's daughter. It 
was his old habitude, contracted long before his matrimonial 
engagement. The young lady hung her head coyly ; her eye 
rested upon a ruby heart, sparkling in a ring on the hand of 
Don Fernando, a parting gage of love from Serafina. A blush 
crimsoned her very temples. She darted a glance of doubt at 
the ring, and then at Don Fernando. He read her doubt, and 
in the giddy intoxication of the moment, drew off the pledge of 
his affianced bride, and shpped it on the fibiger of the Alcayde's 
daughter. 

At this moment the banquet broke up. The chamberlain 
with lus lofty demeanor, and his lack-lustre eyes, stood before 



THIC ENCHANTED ISLAND. 65 

him, and announced that the barge was waiting to conduct him 
back to the caravel. Don Fernando took a formal leave of the 
Alcayde and his dignitaries, and a tender farewell of the Al- 
cayde's daughter, with a promise to throw himself at her lect 
on the following day. He was rowed back to his vessel in the 
same slow and stately manner, to the cadence of the same 
mournful old ditty. He retired to his cabin, his brain whirling 
with all that he had seen, and his heart now and then giving 
him a twinge as he recollected his temporary infidelity to tbo 
beautiful Serafina. He flmig himself on his bed, and soon fell 
into a feverish sleep. His dreams were wild and incoherent. 
How long he slept he knew not, but when he a^voke he found 
himself in a strange cabin, with persons around him of whom 
he had no knowledge. He rubbed his eyes to ascertain whether 
he were really awake. In reply to his inquiries, he was in- 
formed that he was on board of a Portuguese ship, bound to 
Lisbon; having been taken senseless from a wreck drifting 
about the ocean. 

Don Fernando was confounded and perplexed. He retraced 
every thhig distinctly that had happened to him in the Island 
of the Seven Cities, and until he had retired to rest on board of 
the caravel. Had his vessel been driven from her anchors, and 
wrecked during his sleep? The people about him could give 
him no information on the subject. He talked to them of the 
Island of the Seven Cities, and of all that had befallen liim 
there. They regarded his words as the ravings of delirium, 
and in their honest solicitude, administered such rough reme- 
dies, that he was fain to drop the subject, and observe a, 
cautious taciturnity. 

At length they arrived in the Tagus, and anchored before the 
famous city of Lisbon. Don Fernando sprang joyfully on 
shore, and hastened to liis ancestral mansion. To his surprise, 
it was inhabited by strangers ; and when he asked about his 
family, no one could give him any information concerning 
them. 

He now sought the mansion of Don Ramiro, for the tempo- 
rary flame kindled by the bright eyes of the Alcayde's daughter 
had long since burnt itself out, and his genuine passion for 
Serafina had revived with all its fervor. He approacned the 
balcony, beneath whioh he had so often serenaded her. Did 
his eyes deceive him? No ! There was Serafina herseK at the 
balcony. An exclamation of rapture burst from him, as he 
raised his arms toward her. She cast upon him a look of indig- 



66 WOLFERTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

nation, and hastily retiring, closed the casement. Conld she 
have heard of his flirtation with the Alcayde's daughter? He 
would soon dispel every doubt of his constancy. The door was 
open. He rushed up-stairs, and entering the room, threw Iiim- 
self at her feet. She shrank back with affright, and took refuge 
in the arms of a youthful cavalier. 

" What mean you, Sir," cried the latter, " by this intrusion?" 

"What right have you," replied Don Fernando, "to ask the 
question?" 

" The right of an affianced suitor I" 

Don Fernando started, and turned pale. ' ' Oh, Serafina ! 
Serafinal" cried he in atone of agony, "is this thy plighted 
constancy?" 

"Serafina? — what mean you by Serafina? If it be this young;^ 
lady you intend, her nam« is Maria." 

"Is not this Serafina Alvarez, and is not that her po^-t^-^ It?" 
cried Don Fernando, pointing to a picture of liis mistress. 

" Holy Virgin I" cried the young lady; " he is talking of my 
great-grandmother !" 

An explanation ensued, if that could be called on explana- 
tion, which plunged the unfortunate Fernando into tenfold 
perplexity. If he might beheve his eyes, he saw before him 
his beloved Serafina; if he might believe his ears, it was merely 
her hereditary form and features, perpetuated in the person of 
her great-granddaughter. 

His brain began to spin. He sought tho office of the Minister 
of Marine, and made a report of his expedition, and of the 
Island of the Seven Cities, which he had so fortunately discov- 
ered. No body knew any thing of such an expedition, or such 
an island. He declared that he had undertaken the enterprise 
under a formal contract with the crown, and had received a 
regular commission, constituting him Adelantado. This must 
be matter of record, and he insisted loudly, that the books of 
the department should be consulted. The wordy strife at 
length attracted the attention of an old, gray-headed clerk, 
who sat perched on a high stool, at a high desk, with iron- 
rimmed spectacles on the top of a thin, pinched nose, copying 
records into an enormous folio. He had wintered and sum- 
mered in the department for a great part of a century, until he 
had almost grown to be a piece of the desk at which he sat ; 
his memory was a mere index of official facts and documents, 
and his brain was little better than red tape and parchment. 
After peering down for a time from his lofty perch, and ascer- 



TEE EIsCHANTED ISLAND. 67 

taining the matter in controversy, he put his pen behind his 
ear, and descended. He remembered to have heard something 
from his predecessor about an expedition of the kind in ques- 
tion, but then it had sailed during the reign of Don loam II., 
and he had been dead at least a hundred years. To put the 
matter beyond dispute, however, the archives of the Torve do 
Tombo, that sepulchre of old Portuguese documents, were dili- 
gently searched, and a record was found of a contract between 
the crown and one Fernando de Ulmo, for the discovery of the 
Island of the Seven Cities, and of a commission secured to him 
as Adelantado of the country he might discover. 

"There!" cried Don Fernando, triumphantly, "there you 
have proof, before your own eyes, of what I have said. I am 
the Fernando de Ulmo speciHed in that record. I have discov- 
ered the Island of the Seven Cities, and am entitled to be 
Adelantado, according to contract." 

The story of Don Fc" nando liad certainly, what is pronounced 
the best of historical foundation, documentary evidei^ce; but 
when a man, in the bloom of youth, talked of events that had 
taken place above a century previously, as having happened to 
himself, it is no wonder that he was set down for a mad man. 

The old clerk looked at him from above and below his spec- 
tacles, shrugged his shoulders, stroked his chin, reascended 
his lofty stool, took the pen from behind liis ears, and resumed 
his daily and eternal task, copying records into the fiftieth 
volume of . series of gigantic fohos. The other clerks winked 
at each other shrewdly, and dispersed to their several places, 
and poor Don Fernando, thus left to himseh, flung out of the 
office, almost driven wild by these repeated perplexities. 

In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively repaired to the 
mansion of Alvarez, but it was barred against him. To break 
the delusion under which the youth apparently labored, and to 
convince him that the Serafina about whom he raved was really 
dead, he was conducted to her tomb. There she lay, a stately 
matron, cut out in alabaster ; and there lay her husband beside 
her ; a portly cavaher, in armor ; and there knelt, on each side, 
the effigies of a numerous progeny, proving that she had been 
a fruitful vine. Even the very monument gave proof of the 
lapse of time, for the hands of her husband, which were folded 
as if iQ prayer, had lost their fingere, and the face of the once 
lovely Serafina was noseless. 

Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indignation at behold- 
ing this monumental proof ot the inconstancy of his mistress ; 



68 W0LFERT8 ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

but who could expect a mistress to remain constant during a 
whole century of absence? And what right had he to rail 
about constancy, after what had passed between him and the 
Alcayde's daughter? The unfortunate cavalier performed one 
pious act of tender devotion; he had the alabaster nose of 
Serafma restored by a skiKul statuary, and then tore liimself 
from the tomb. 

He could now no longer doubt the fact that, somehow or 
other, he had skipped over a whole century, during the night 
he had spent at the Island of the Seven Cities ; and he was now 
as complete a stranger in his native city, as if he had never 
been there. A thousand times did he wish himseli back lo 
that wonderful island, with its antiquated banquet halls, where 
he had been so courteously received ; and now that the once 
young and beautiful. Serafina was nothing but a great-grand- 
mother in marble, with generations of descendants, a thousand 
times would he recall the melting black eyes of the Alcayde's 
daughter, who doubtless, Mke himself, was still flourishing in 
fresh juvenihty, and breathe a secret wish that he were seated 
by her side. 

He would at once have set on foot another expedition, at his 
own expense, to cruise in search of the sainted island, but his 
means were exhausted. He endeavored to rouse others to the 
enterprise, setting forth the certainty of profitable results, of 
which his own experience furnished such unquestionable 
proof. Alas ! no one would give faith to his tale ; but looked 
upon it as the feverish dream of a shipwrecked man. He 
persisted in his efforts ; holding forth in all places and all com- 
panies, until he became an object of jest and jeer to the light- 
minded, who mistook his earnest enthusiasm for a proof of 
insanity; and the very cliildren in the streets bantered him 
Avith the title of "The Adelantado of the Seven Cities." 

Finding all his effoi-ts in vain, in his native city of Lisbon, 
he took shipping for the Canaries, as being nearer the latitude 
of his former cruise, and inhabited by people given to nautical 
K^.'Iventure. Here he found ready hsteners to his story; for the 
old pilots and mariners of those parts were notorious island- 
hunters and devout behevers in all the wonders of the sens; 
Indeed, one and all treated his adventure as a common occur- 
rence, and turning to each other, "ivith a sagacious nod of 1 lie 
head, observed, "He has been at the Island of St. Brandan." 

They then went on to inform Mm of that great marvel and 
enigma of the ocean ;* of its repeated appearance to the inhabi- 



NATIONAL NOMENCLATURE. 69 

tants of their islands; and of the many but ineffectual expe- 
ditions that had been made in search of it. They took him to 
a promontory of the island of Palma, from whence the shadowy 
St. Brandan had oftenest been descried, and they pointed out 
the very tract in the west where its mountains had been seen. 

Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. He had no longer 
a doubt that this mysterious and fugacious island must be the 
same with that of the Seven Cities ; and that there must be 
some supernatural influence connected with it, that had 
operated upon himself, and niade the events of a night occupy 
the space of a century. 

He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the islanders to another 
attempt at discovery ; they had given up the phantom island 
as indeed inaccessible. Fernando, however, was not to be dis- 
couraged. The idea wore itself deeper and deeper in his mind, 
until it became the engrossing subject of his thoughts and 
object of his being. Every morning he would repair to tho 
promontory of Palma, and sit there throughout the hve-long 
day, in hopes of seeing the fairy mountains of St. Brandan 
peering above the horizon ; every evening he returned to hi 3 
home, a disappointed man, but ready to resume his post on tho 
following morning. 

His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray in his ineffec- 
tual attempt ; and was at length found dead at his post. His 
grave is still shown in the island of Palma, and a cross is erected 
on the spot where he used to sit and look out upon the sea, in 
hopes of the reappearance of the enchanted island. 



NATIONAL NOMENCLATURE. 

TO THE EDITOR OP THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir: I am somewhat of the same way of thinking, in regard 
.0 names, with that profound philosopher, Mr. Shandy, the 
eider, who maintained that some inspired high thoughts and 
heroic aims, while others entailed irretrievable meanness and 
vulgarity ; insomuch that a man might sink under the insigni- 
ficance of his name, and bo absolutely "Nicodemused into 
nothing." I have ever, therefore, thought it a great hardship 
for a man to be obliged to struggle through life with some ri-t 



70 WOLFERTS BOOST AMD MISCELLANIES. 

diculoiMS or ignoble Christian name, as it is too often falsely- 
called, inflicted on him in infancy, when he could not choose 
for himself ; and would give him free liberty to change it for 
one more to his taste, when he had arrived at years of dis- 
cretion. 

I have the same notion with respect to local names. Some 
at once prepossess us in favor of a place ; others repel us, by 
milucky associations of the mind; and I have known scenes 
worthy of being the very haunt of poetry and romance, yet 
doomed to irretrievable vulgarity, by some ill-choseia name, 
wliich not even the magic numbers of a Halleck or a Bryant 
could elevate into poetical acceptation. 

This is an evil unfortunately too prevalent thi'oughout our 
country. Nature kas stamped the land with features of subli- 
mity and beauty ; but some of our noblest mountains and love- 
liest streams are ira danger of remaining for ever unhonored 
and unsung, from bearing appellations totally abhorrent to the 
Mftse. In the first place, our country is deluged with names 
taken from places in the old world, and applied to places having 
no possible aflBnity or resemblance to their namesakes. This 
betokens a forlorn poverty of inventioM, and a second-hand 
spirit, content to cover its nakedness with borrowed or cast-olf 
clothes of Europe. 

Then we have a shallow affectation of scholarship : the whole 
catalogue of ancient worthies is chaken out from the back of 
Lempriere's Classica»r Dictionary, and a wide region of wild 
country sprinkled over with the names of the heroes, poets, 
and sages of antiquity, jumbled into i3he most whimsical juxta- 
position. Then we have our pohtical god-fathers ; topographi- 
cal engineers, perhaps, or persons employed by govermnent to 
survey and lay out townships. These, forsooth, glorify the 
patrons that give them bread ; so we have the names of the 
great official men of the day scattered over the land, as if they 
were the real " salt of the earth," with which it was to be sea- 
soned. WeU for us is it, v^hen these official great men happen 
to have names of fair acceptation ; but wo unto us, should a 
Tubbs or a Potts be in power : we are sure, in a little wliile, 
to find Tubbsvilles and Pottsylvanias springing up in every 
direction. 

Under these melancholy dispensations of taste and loyalty, 
therefore, Mr. Editor, it is with a feeling of dawning hope, that 
I have lately perceived the attention of persons of intelligence 
beginning to be awakened on this subject. I trust if the mat- 



NATIONAL NOMENCLATURE. 71 

ter should once be taken up, it will not be readily abandoned. 
We are yet young enough, as a country, to remedy and reform 
much of what has been done, and to release many of our rising 
towns and cities, and our noble streams, from names calculated 
to vulgarize the land. 

I have, on a former occasion, suggested the expediency 
of searching out the original Indian names of places, and 
wherever they are striking and euphonious, and those by 
which they have been superseded are glaringly objectionable, 
to restore them. They would have the meiit of originality, 
and of belonging to the country; and they would remain as 
reliques of the native lords of the soil, when every other vestige 
had disappeared. Many of these names may easily be regained, 
by reference to old title deeds, and to the archives of states and 
counties. In my own case, by examining the records of the 
county clerk's office, I Iip ve discovered the Indian names of 
various places and objects in the neighborhood, and have 
found them infinitely superior to the trite, poverty-stricken 
names which had been given by the settlers. A beautiful pas- 
toral stream, for instance, Avhick winds for many a mile 
through one of the loveliest little valley«3 in the state, has long 
been known by the common-place name of the ' ' Saw-mill River. " 
In the old Indian grants, it is designated as the Neperan. 
Another, a perfectly wizard stream, which ^vinds through the 
wildest recesses of Sleepy Hollow, bears the hum-drum name 
of Mill Creek : in the Indian grants, it sustains the euphonious 
title of the Pocantico. 

Similar researches have released Long-Island from many of 
those paltry and vulgar names which fringed its beautiful shores ; 
their Cow Bays, and Cow Necks, and Oyster Ponds, and Mus- 
quito Coves, which spread a spell of vulgarity over the whole 
island, and kept persons of taste and fancy at a distance. 

It would be an object worthy the attention of the historical 
societies, which are springing up in various parts of the Union, 
to have maps executed of their respective states or neighbor- 
hoods, in which all the Indian local names should, as far as 
possible, be restored. In fact, it appears to me that the nomen- 
clature of the country is almost of sufficient importance for the 
foundation of a distinct society; or rather, a corresponding 
association of persons of taste and judgment, of all parts of the 
Union. Such an association, if properly constituted and com- 
posed, comprising especially all the literary taler.t of the 
country, though it might not have legislative poA/er in its 



72 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

enactments, yet would have the all-pervading power of the 
press ; and the changes in nomenclature Avhich it might dictate, 
being at once adopted hy elegant writers in prose and poetry, 
and interwoven with the hterature of the country, would ulti- 
mately pass into popular currency. 

Should such a reforming association arise, I beg to recommend 
to its attention all those mongrel names that have the adjec- 
tive New prefixed to 1 hem, and pray they may be one and all 
kicked out of the country. I am for none of these second-hand 
appellations, that stamp us a second-hand people, and that are 
to perpetuate us a new country to the end of time. Odds my 
life ! Mr. Editor, I hope and trust we are to live to be an old 
nation, as well as our neighbors, and have no idea that our 
cities, when they shall have attained to venerable antiquity, 
shall still be dubbed Neiv-Yovk^ and A'e?o-London, and new this 
and neio that, like the Pont-Neuf, (the New Bridge,) at Paris, 
which is the oldest bridge in that capital, or like the Vicar of 
Wakefield's horse, which continued to be called "the colt," 
until he died of old age. 

Speaking of New-York, reminds me of some observations 
which I met with some time since, in one of the pubhc papers, 
about the name of our state and city. The writer proposes to 
substitute for the present names, those of the State of Ontario, 
and the City of ]\Ianhattan. I concur in his suggestion most 
heartily. Though bom and brought up in the city of New- 
York, and though I love every stick and stone about it, yet I do 
not, nor ever did, relish its name. I hke neither its sound nor 
its significance. As to its significance^ the very adjective new 
gives to our great conunercial metropoHs a second-hand char- 
acter, as if referring to some older, more dignified, and impor- 
tant place, of which it was a mere copy ; though in fact, if I 
am rightly informed, the whole name commemorates a grant . 
by Charles II. to his brother, the duke of York, made in the 
spirit of royal munificence, of a tract of country which did not 
belong to him. As to the sound, what can you make of it, 
either in poetry or prose? New- York ! Why, Sir, if it were to 
share the fate of Troy itself ; to suffer a ten years' siege, aad be 
sacked and plundered ; no modern Homer would ever be able 
to elevate the nan.e to epic dignity. 

Now, Sir, Ontario would be a name worthy of the empire 
state. It bears with it the majesty of that internal sea which 
washes our northwestern shore. Or, if any objection should be 
made, from its not being completely embraced within our 



NATIONAL NOMENCLATURE. 73 

boundaries, there is the Mohegan, one of the Indian names for 
that glorious river, the Hudson, which would furnish an excel- 
lent state appellation. So also New- York might be called Man- 
hatta, as it is na med in some of the early records, and Manliat- 
tan used as the adjective. Manhattan, however, stands well as a 
substantive, and " MarJiattanese, " which I obsei've Mr. Cooper 
has adopted in some of his writings, would be a very good 
appellation for a citizen of the commercial metropohs. 

A word or two more, Mr. Editor, and I have done. We want 
a NATIONAL NAME. We Want it poetically, and we want it poli- 
tically. With the poetical necessity of the caec I shall not 
trouble myself. I leave it to our poets to tell how they manage 
to steer that collocation of words, '' Tlie United States of North 
America," down the swelling tide of song, and to float the 
whole raft out upon the sea of heroic poesy. I am now speak- 
ing of the mere purposes of common life. How is a citizen of 
this repubhc to designate himself? As an American? There 
are two Americas, each subdivided into various empires, 
rapidly rising in unportance. As a citizen of the United 
States? It is a clumsy, lumbering title, yet still it is not dis- 
tinctive ; for we have now the United States of Central Amer- 
ica; and heaven knows how many " United States" may spring 
up under the Proteus changes of Spanish America. 

Tliis may appear matter of smaU concernment ; but any one 
that has travelled in foreign countries must be conscious of the 
embarrassment and circumlocution sometimes occasioned by 
the want of a perfectly distinct and explicit national appella- 
tion. In France, when I have announced myself as an Ameri- 
can, I have been supposed to belong to one of the French 
colonies ; in Spain, to be from Mexico, or Peru, or some other 
Spanish- American country. Repeatedly have I found myself 
involved in a long geographical and poHtical definition of my 
national identity. 

Now, Sir, meaning no disrespect to any of our co-heu-s of this 
grea.t quarter of the world, I am for none of this coparceny in 
a name that is to mingle us up with the riff-raff colonies and 
off-sets of every nation of Europe. The title of American may 
serve to tell the quarter of the world to which I belong, the 
same as a Frenchman or an Englishman may call himself a 
European ; but I want my own pccuKar national name to rally 
under. I want an appellation that shall tell at once, and in a 
way not to be mistaken, that I belong to this very portion of 
America, geograpliical and political, to which it is my pride 



J.j WOLFERT'S BOOST A2\I) MISCELLANIES. 

and happiness to belong; that I am of the Anglo-Saxon race 
which founded this Anglo-Saxon empire in the wilderness ; and 
that I have no part or parcel with any other race or empire, 
Spanish, French, or Portuguese, in either of the Americas. 
Such an appellation, Sir, would have magic in it. It would 
bind every part of the confederacy together as with a key- 
stone; it would be a passport to the citizen of our republic 
throughout the world. 

We have it in our power to furnish ourselves v/ith such a 
national appellation, from one of the grand and eternal fea- 
tures of our country; from that noble cham of mountains 
which formed its back-bone, and ran through the ' ' old con- 
federacy," when it first declared our national independence. 
I allude to the Appalachian or Alleghany mountains. We 
might do this without any very inconvenient change in our 
present titles. We might still use the phrase, ' ' The United 
States," substituting Appalachia, or Alleghania, (I should pre- 
fer the latter,) in place of America. The title of Appalachian, 
or Alleghanian, would still announce us as Americans, but 
would specify us as citizens of the Great Republic. Even our 
old national cypher of U. S. A. might remain unaltered, desig- 
nating the United States of Alleghania. 

These are crude ideas, Mr. Editor, hastily thrown out to 
elicit the ideas of others, and to call attention to a subject of 
more national importance than may at first be supposed. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



DESULTORY THOUGHTS ON CRITICISM. 

"Let a man write nover so wc;l, thei-e are no\v-a-daj^s a sort of persons they call 
critics, tliat. e^rad, have no more wit in them than so many hobby-horses: but 
they'll lau^h at yon, Pii\ and find fault, and censui-e things, that, egad, I'm sure 
they are not able t<> do themselves; a sort of envious persons, that emulate the 
glories of persons of patts, and think to build their fame by calumniation of per- 
rons that, egad, to my knowledge, of all persons in the world, are in nature rhe 
persons that do as much despise all that, as— a— In fine, I'll say no more of 'era !" 

— EaHEARSAL. 

All the world knows the story of the tempest-tossed voyager, 
who, coming upon a strange coast, and seeing a man hanging 
in chains, hailed it with joy, as the sign of a civilized country. 
In like manner wo may hail, ao a proof of the rapid advance- 



DESULTORY THOUGHTS ON CRITICISM. 75 

ment of civilization and refinement in this country, the in- 
creasing number of dehnquent authors daily gibbeted for the 
edification of the public. 

In this respect, as in every other, we are "going ahead " with 
accelerated ^ elocity, and promising to outstrip the superannu- 
ated countries of Europe. It is really astonishing to see the 
number of tribunals incessantly springing up for the trial of 
hterary offences. - Independent of the high courts of Oyer and 
Terminer, the great quarterly reviews, we have innumerable 
minor tribunals, montiily and weekly, down to the Tie-poudre 
courts in the daily papers ; msomuch that no culprit stands so 
little chance of escaping castigation, as an unlucky author, 
guilty of an unsuccessful attemi^t to please the pubhc. 

Seriously speaking, however, it is questionable whether oui> 
national hterature is sufficiently advanced, to bear this excess 
of criticism ; and whether it would not thrive better, if allowed 
to spring up, for some time longer, in the freshness and vigor 
of native vegetation. When the worthy Judge Coulter, of 
Virginia, opened court for the first time in one of the upper 
counties, he was for enforcing all the rules and regulations 
that had grown into use in the old, long-settled counties. 
"This is all very well," said a shrewd old farmer; "but let me 
teU you. Judge Coulter, you set your coulter too deep for a 
new soil." 

For my part, I doubt whether either writer or reader is 
benefited by what is commonly called criticism. The former 
is rendered cautious and distrustful ; he fears to give way to 
those kindling emotions, and brave sallies of thought, which 
bear him up to excellence; the latter is made fastidious and 
cynical; or rather, he surrenders hi-s own independent taste 
and judgment, and learns to like and dislike at second hand. 

Let us, for a moment, consider the nature of this thing called 
criticism, v/hich exerts such a sway over the literary world. 
The pronoun we, used by critics, has a most imposing and 
delusive sound. The reader pictures to himself a conclave of 
learned men, deliberating gravely and scrupulously on the 
merits of the book in question; examining it page by page, 
comparing and balancing their opinions, and when they have 
united in a conscientious verdict, publishing it for the benefit 
of the world : Avhereas the criticism is generally the crude and 
hasty production of an individual, scribbling to while away an 
idle hour, to oblige a book-seller, or to defray current -expenses. 
How often is it the passing notion of the hour, affected by 



76 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

accidental circumstances ; by indisposition, by peevishness, by 
vapors or indigestion ; by personal prejudice, or party feeling. 
Sometimes a work is sacrificed, because the reviewer wishes a 
satirical article ; sometimes because he wants a humorous one ; 
and sometimes because the author reviewed has become oft'cn- 
sively celebrated, and offers high game to the hterary marks- 
man. 

How often would the critic himself, if a conscientious man, 
reverse his opinion, had he time to revise it in a more sunny 
moment ; but the press is waiting, the printer's devil is at 
his elbow ; the article is wanted to make the requisite variety 
for the number of the review, or the author has pressing 
occasion for the sum he is to receive for the article, so it is sent 
off, all blotted and blurred ; with a shrug of the shoulders, and 
the consolatory ejaculation: "Pshaw! curse it! it's nothing 
but a review !" 

The critic, too, who dictates thus oracularly to the world, is 
perhaps some dingy, ill-favored, ill-mannered varlet, who, 
were he to speak by word of mouth, would be disregarded, if 
not scoffed at ; but such is the magic of types ; such the mystic 
operation of anonymous writing; such the potential effect of 
the pronoun we^ that his crude decisions, fulminated through 
the press, become circulated far and wide, control the opinions 
of the world, and give or destroy reputation. 

Many readers have grown timorous in their judgments since 
the all-pervading currency of criticism. They fear to express 
a revised, frank opinion about any new work, and to rehsh it 
honestly and heartily, lest it should be condemned in the next 
review, and they stand convicted of bad taste. Hence they 
hedge their opinions, like a gambJer his bets, and leave an 
opening to retract, and retreat, and qualify, and neutraMzt 
every unguarded expression of dehght, until their very praise 
declines into a faintness that is damning. 

Were every one, on the contrary, to judge for himself, and 
spovik his mind frankly and fearlessly, we should have more 
true criticism in the world than at present. Whenever a per- 
son is pleased with a work, he may be assured that it has gooc 
qualities. An author who pleases a variety of readers, must 
possess substantial powers of pleasing; or, in other words, 
intrinsic merits ; for otherwise we acknowledge an effect, and 
deny the cause. The reader, therefore, should not suffer him- 
self to be* readily shaken from the conviction of his o\nti feelings, 
by the sweeping censures of psoudo critics. The author he has 



DESULTORY THOUGHTS ON CRITICISM. 77 

admired, may be chargeable with a thousand faults ; but it is 
nevertheless beauties and excellencies that have excited his 
admiration ; and he should recollect that taste and judgment 
are as much evinced in the perception of beauties among 
defects, as in a detection of defects among beauties. For my 
part, I honor the blessed and blessing spirit that is quick to dis- 
cover and extol all that is pleasing and meritorious. Give mo 
the honest bee, that extracts honey from the humblest weed, 
but save me from the ingenuity of the spider, which traces its 
venom, even in the midst of a flower-garden. 

If the mere fact of being cJiai'geable with faults and imper- 
fections is to condemn an author, who is to escape? The great- 
est writers of antiquity have, in this v/ay, been obnoxious to 
cx'iticism. Aristotle himself has been accused of ignorance; 
Aristophanes of impiety and buffoonery ; Virgil of plagiarism, 
and a want of invention ; Horace of obscurity ; Cicero has been, 
said to want vigor and connexion, and Demosthenes to be 
deficient in nature, and in purity of language. Yet these have 
all survived the censures of the critic, and flourished on to a 
glorious immortality. Every now and then the world is startled 
by some new doctrines in matters of taste, some levelling attacks 
on established creeds; some sweeping denunciations of whole 
generations, or schools of writers, as they are called, who had 
seemed to be embalmed and canonized in public opinion. Such 
has been the case, for instance, with Pope, and Dryden, and 
Addison, who for a time have almost been shaken from their 
pedestals, and treated as false idols. 

It is singular, also, to see the fickleness of the world with 
respect to its favorites. Enthusiasm exhausts itself, and pre- 
pares the way for dislike. Tlie public is always for positive 
sentiments, and new sensations. When wearied of admiring, it 
dehghts to censure; thus coining a double set of enjoyments out 
of the same subject. Scott and Byron are scarce cold in their 
graves, and already we find criticism beginning to call in ques- 
tion those powers which held the world in magic thraldom. 
Even in our own country, one of its greatest geniuses has had 
some rough passages with the censors of the press ; and instant- 
ly criticism begins to unsay all that it has repeatedly said in 
Ms praise ; and the public are almost led to believe that the pen 
which has so often dehghted them, is absoiutel.y destitute of the 
power to delight ! 

If, then, such reverses-in opinion as to matters of taste can 
be so readily brought about, when may an author feel himself 



78 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

secure? Where is the anchoring-ground of popularity, when 
he may thus be driven from his moorings, and foimdered even 
in harbor? The reader, too, when he is to consider himself 
rale in admiring, when he sees long-established altars over- 
thrown, and his household deities dashed to the ground ! 

There is one consolatory reflection. Every abuse carries with 
it its own remedy or palhation. Thus the excess of crude and 
hasty criticism, which has of late prevailed throughout the 
literary world, and threatened to overrun our country, begins 
to produce its own antidote. Where there is a multiplicity of 
contradictory paths, a man must make his choice ; in so doing, 
he has to exercise his judgment, and that is one great step to 
mental independence. He begins to doubt all, where aU differ, 
and but one can be in the right. He is driven to trust to his 
own discernment, and Ms natural feelings ; and here he is most 
Hkely to be safe. The author, too, finding that what is con- 
demned at one tribunal, is applauded at another, though per- 
plexed for a time, gives way at len^h to the spontaneous 
impulse of his genius, and the dictates of his taste, and T^Tites 
in the waj" most natural to himself. It is thus that criticism, 
which by its severity may have held the Httle world of writers 
in check, may, by its very excess, disarm itself of its terrors, 
and the hardihood of talent become restored. G. C. 



SPANISH ROMANCE. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir: I have already given you a legend or two drawn from 
ancient Spanish sources, and may occasionally give you a few 
more. I love these old Spanish themes, especially when they 
have a dash of the Morisco in them, and treat of the times 
when the Moslems maintained a foot-hold in the peninsula. 
They have a high, spicy, oriental flavor, not to be found in any 
other themes that are merely European. In fact, Spain is a 
country that stands alone in the midst of Europe ; severed in 
habits, manners, and modes of thinking, from all its conti- 
nental neighbors. It is a romantic country; but its romance 
has none of the sentimentahty of modem European romance ; 
it is chiefly derived fr-om the brilliant regions of the East, and 
from the high-minded school of Saracenic chivalry. 



sPAmsn ROMANCE. 79 

The Arab invasion and conquest brought a higher civilization 
and a nobler style of thinking into Gothic Spain. The Arabs 
were a quick-witted, sagacious, proud-spirited, and poetical 
people, and w^ere imbued with oriental science and hterature. 
Wherever they established a seat of power, it became a rally- 
ing place for the learned and ingenious ; and they softened and 
refined the people whom they conquered. By degrees, occu- 
pancy seemed to give them a hereditary right to their foot- 
hold in the land ; they ceased to be looked upon as invaders, 
and were regarded as rival neighbors. The peninsula, broken 
up into a variety of states, both Christian and ]\Ioslem, became 
for centuries a great campaigning ground, wiiere the art of war 
seemed to be the principal business of man, and was carried to 
the highest pitch of romantic chivalry. The oiiginal ground 
of hostihty, a difference of faith, gradually lost its rancor. 
Neighboring states, of opposite creeds, were occasionally linked 
together in alliances, offensive and defensive ; so that the cross 
and crescent were to be seen side by side fighting against some 
common enemy. In times of peace, too, the noble youth of 
either faith resorted to the same cities. Christian or Moslem, to 
school themselves in military science. Even in the temporary 
truces of sanguinary wars, the warriors who had recently 
striven together in the deadly conflicts of the field, laid aside 
their animosity, met at tournaments, jousts, and other mih- 
tary festivities, and exchanged the courtesies of gentle and 
generous spirits. Thus the opposite races became frequently 
mingled together in peaceful intercourse, or if any rivalry took 
place, it was in those Mgh courtesies and nobler acts which be- 
speak the accomplished cavaher. Warriors of opposite creeds 
became ambitious of transcending each other in magnanimity 
as well as valor. Indeed, the chivalric virtues were refined 
upon to a degree sometimes fastidiou.s and constrained; but at 
other times, inexpressibly noble and affecting. The annals of 
the times teem with illustrious instances of hight-wrought 
courtesy, romantic generosity, lofty disinterestedness, and 
punctilious honor, that warm the very soul to read them. 
These have furnished themes for national plays and poems, or 
have been celebrated in those all-pervading ballads which are 
as the life-breath of the people, and thus have continued to 
exercise an influence on the national character which centuries 
of vicissitude and decline have not been able to destroy; so 
that, with all their faults, and they are many, the Spaniards, 
even at the present day, are on many points the most high- 



80 WOLFEBTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

minded and proud-spirited people of Europe. It is true, the 
romance of feeling derived from the sources I have mentioned, 
has, lilvO all other romance, its affectations and extremes. It 
renders the Spaniard at times pompous and grandiloquent; 
i:)rone to carry the " pundonor," or point of honor, beyond the 
bounds of sober sense and sound morality; disposed, in the 
midst of poverty, to affect the " grande cabahero," and to look 
down with sovereign disdain upon " arts mechanical," and all 
the gainful pursuits of plebeian life ; but this very inflation of 
spirit, while it fills his brain with vapors, lifts him above a 
thousand meannesses; and thcmgh it often keeps him in in- 
digence, ever protects him from vulgarity. 

In the present day, when popular Uterature is running into 
the low levels of life and luxuriating on the vices and follies of 
mankind, and when the universal pursuit of gain is tramphng 
down the early growth of poetic feeling and wearing out the 
verdure of the soul, I question whether it would not be of 
service for the reader occasionally to turn to these records of 
prouder times and loftier modes of thinking, and to steep him- 
self to the very lips in old Spanish romance. 

For my own part, I have a shelf or two of venerable, parch- 
ment-bound tomes, picked up here and there about the pe- 
ninsula, and filled with chronicles, plays, and ballads, about 
Moors and Christians, which I keep by me as mental tonics, in 
the same way that a provident housewife has her cupboard 
of cordials. Whenever I find my mind brought below par 
by the commonplace of every-day life, or jarred by the sordid 
collisions of the world, or put out of tune by the shrewd 
selfishness of modern utilitarianism, I resort to these venerable 
tomes, as did the worthy hero of La Mancha to his feooks of 
chivalry, and refresh and tone up my spirit by a deep draught 
of their contents. They have some such effect upon mo af? 
Falstaff ascribes to a good Sherris sack, " warming the blood 
and filhng the brain Avith fiery and delectable shapes." 

I here subjoin, Mr. Editor, a small specimen of the cordia*"^ I 
liavc mentioned, just drawn from my Spanish cupboard, whicli 
I recommend to your palate. If you find it to your taste, you 
may pass it on to your readers. 

Your correspondent and well-wisher, 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



SPAmSII liOMANCE. 81 

LEGEND OF DON MUMO 8ANCH0 BE EINOJOSA. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 

In the cloisters of the ancient Benedictine convent of San 
Domingo, at Silos, in Castile, are the mouldering yet magni- 
ficent monuments of the once powerful and chivalrous family 
of Hinojosa. Among these, reclines the marble figure of a 
knight, in complete armor, with the hands pressed together, as 
if in prayei-. On one side of his tomb is sculptiu-ed in relief a 
band of Christian cavaliers, capturing a cavalcade of male and 
female Moors; on the other side, the same cavaliers are repre- 
sented kneeling before an altar. The tomb, like most of the 
neighboring monuments, is almost in ruins, and the sculpture 
is nearly unintelligible, excepting to the keen eye of the anti- 
quary. The story connected with the sepulchre, however, is 
still preserved in the old Spanish chronicles, and is to the fol- 
lowing purport. 



In old times, several hundred years ago, there was a noble 
Castilian cavaher, named Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa, lord 
of a border castle, which had stood the brunt of many a Moor- 
ish foray. He had seventy horsemen as his household troops, 
all Oi the ancient Castilian proof; stark warriors, hard riders, 
and men of iron ; with these he scoured the Moorish lands, and 
made his name terrible throughout the borders. His castle 
hall was covered with banners, and scimetars, and Moslem 
helms, the trophies of his proAvess. Don Munio was, moi-e- 
ovcr, a keen huntsman; and rejoiced in hounds of all kinds, 
steeds for the chase, and hawks for the towering sport of 
faJconry. When not engaged in warfare, his delight was to 
beat up the neighboring forests ; and scarcely ever did ho ride 
forth, without hound and horn, a boar-spear in his hand, or 
a hawk upon his fist, and an attendant train of huntsmen. 

His wife, Donna Maria Palacin, was ol" a gentle and timid na- 
ture, httle fitted to be the spouse of so hardy and adventurous 
a Icnight ; and many a tear did the poor lady shed, when he 
salHod forth upon his daring enterprises, and many a prayer 
did she offer up for his safety. 

As this doughty cavalier was one day hunting, he stationed 
himself in a thicket, on the borders of a green ,gladc of the 



89 WOLFERTS ROOST AM) MlSCELLA^'lh:S. 

forego, and dispersed his followers to rouse the game, and 
drive it toward his stand. He had not been here long, when a 
cavalcade of Moors, of both sexes, came prankling over tho 
forest lawn. They were unarmed, and magnificently dressed 
in robes of tissue and embroidery, rich shawls of India, brace- 
lets and anklets Qf gold, and jewels that sparkled in the sun. 

At the head of this gay cavalcade, rode a youthful cavalier, 
superior to the rest in dignity and lof tmess of demeanor, and 
in splendor of attire; beside him was a damsel, whose veil, 
blown aside by the breeze, displayed a face of surpassing 
beauty, and eyes cast down in maiden modesty, yet beaming 
with tenderness and joy. 

Don Munio thanked his stars for sending him such a prize, 
and exulted at the thought of bearing home to his wife the 
glittering spoils of these infidels. Putting his hunting-horn to 
his lips, he gave a blast that nmg through the forest. His 
huntsmen came running from all quarters, and the astonished 
Moors were surrounded and made captives. 

The beautiful Moor wi-ung her hands in despair, and her 
female attendants uttered the most piercing cries. The young 
Moorish cavalier alone retained self-possession. He inquired 
the name of the Chiistian knight, who commanded this troop 
of horsemen. When told that it was Don Munio Sancho de 
Hinojosa, his countenance hghted up. Approaching that 
cavalier, and kissing his hand, ' ' Don Munio Sancho, " said he, 
"I have heard of your fame as a tiiie and valiant knight, ter- 
rible ui arms, but schooled in the noble ^-ii'tues of chivalry. 
Such do I trust to find you. In ms you behold Abadil, son of 
a ]\Ioorish Alcayde. I am on the way to celebrate my nuptials 
with this lady ; chance has tmown us in your power, but I 
confide in your magnanimity. Take all our treasure and 
jewels; demand what ransom you think proper for our pcr- 
BOi-'j, but suffer us not to be insulted or dishonored." 

When the good knight heard this appeal, and beheld the 
beauty of the youthful pair, his heart was touched with ten- 
derness and courtesy. "God forbid," said he, "that I should 
disturb such happy nuptials. My prisoners in troth slmll > c 
be, for fifteen days, and immured within my castle, where I 
claim, as conqueror, the right of celebrating your espousals." 

So saying, he despatched one of his fleetest horsemen in 
advance, to notify Donna Maria Palacin of the coming of this 
bridal party; while lie and his huntsmen escorted the caval- 
cade, not as captors, but as a guard of honor. As they drew 



SPAmSH nOMANCE. 83 

near to the castle, the banners were hung out, ?ind the trum- 
pets sounded from the battlements; and on their nearer ap- 
proach, the draw-bridge was lowered, and Donna Maria came 
forth to meet them, attended by her ladies fmd knights, her 
pages and her minstrels. She took the young bride, Allifra, in 
her arms, kissed her mth the tenderness of a sister, and con- 
ducted her into the castle. In the mean time, Don Munio sent 
forth missives in every direction, and had viands and dainties 
of all kinds collected from the country round ; and the wedding 
of the Moorish lovers was celebrated with all possible state and 
festivity. For fifteen days, the castle was given up to joy and 
revelry. There w^e tiltings and jousts at the ring, and bull- 
fights, and banquets, and dances to the sound of minstrelsy. 
When the fifteen days were at an end, he made the bride and 
bridegroom magnificent presents, and conducfced them and 
their attendants safely beyond the borders. Such, in old 
times, were the courtesy and generosity of a Spanish cava- 
lier. 

Several years after this ovent, the King or Castile sum- 
moned his nobles to assist him in a campaign against the 
Moors. Don Munio Sancho was among the first to answer to 
the call, with seventy horsemen, aU staunch and well-tried 
warriors. His wife, Donna Maria, hung about his neck. 
*' Alas, my lord!" exclaimed she, "how often wilt thou tempt 
thy fate, and when will thy thirst for glory be appeased !" 

" One battle more," replied Don Munio, "one battle more, for 
the honor of Castile, and I here make a vow, that when this is 
over, I will lay by my sword, and repair with my cavaliers in 
pilgrimage to the sepulchre of our Lord at Jerusalem." The 
cavaliers all joined with him in the vow, and Donna Maria felt 
in some degree soothed in spirit : still, she saw with a heavy 
heart the departure of her husband, and watched his banner 
with wistful eyes, until it disappeared among the trees of the 
forest. 

The King of Castile led his army to the plains of Almanara, 
where they encountered the Moorish host, near to [Jcles. Tlie 
battle was long and bloody ; the Christians repeatedly wavered, 
and were as often rallied by the energy of their commanders. 
Don Munio was covered with wounds, but refused to leave the 
field. The Christians at length gave way, and the king was 
hardly pressed, and in danger of being captured. 

Don Munio called upon his cavaliers to follow him to the 
rescue. " Now is the time," cried he. " to^prove .your loyalty, 



84 JVOLFERT'S BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 



"1 



Fall to, like brave men I We fight for the true faith, and if we 
lose our lives here, we gain a better Ufe hereafter." 

Rushing with his men between the king and his pursuers, 
they checked the latter in their career, and gave time for their 
monarch to escape; but they fell victims to their loyalty. 
They all fought to the last gasp. Don Munio was singled out 
by a powerful Moorish knight, but having been wounded in 
the right arm, he fought to disadvantage, and was slain. The 
battle being over, the Moor paused to possess himself of the 
spoils of this redoubtable Christian warrior. When he unlaced 
the hehnet, however, and beheld the countenance of Don 
Munio, he gave a groat cry, and smote his breast. "Wo is 
me!" cried ho; "I have slain n\j benefactor! The flower of 
knightly virtue ! the most magnanimous of cavahers !" 



While the battle had been raging on the plain of Salmanara, 
Donna Maria Palacin remained in her castle, a prey to the 
keenest anxiety. Her eyes were ever fixed on the road that 
led from the country of tho Moors, and often she asked the 
watchman of the tower, " What seest thou?" 

One evening, at the shadowy hour of tmhght, the warden 
sounded his horn. "I see," cried he, "a nmuerous train wind- 
ing up the valley. There are mingled Moors and Christians. 
•Bhe banner of my lord is in the advance. Joyful tidings !" ex^ 
claimed the old seneschal: "my lord returns in triumph, and 
brings captives !" Then the castle courts rang with shouts of 
joy ; and the standard was displayed, and the trumpets were 
sounded, and the draw-bridge was lowered, and Donna Maria 
went forth with her ladies, and her knights, and her pages, 
and hor minstrels, to welcome her lord from the wars. But as 
the train drew nigh, she beheld a sumptuous bier, covered with 
black velvet, and on it lay a warrior, as if taking his repose : 
he lay in his r.rmor, with his helmet on his head, and his 
sword in his hand, as one who had never been conquered, and 
around the bier were the escutcheons of the house of Hinojosa. 

A number of Moorish cavahiers attended the bier, with em- 
bloms of mourning, and with dejected countenances: and thoii- 
loader cast himself at the feet of Donna Maria, and hid his faoo 
in liis hands. She beheld in him the gallant Abadil, whom slie 
lio.d once welcomed with his bride to her castle, but who now 
came with the body of her lord, whom he had unknowingly 
clain in battle ! 



SPANISH ROMANCE. 35 

The sepulchre erected in the cloisters of the Convent of San 
Domingo was achieved at the expense of the Moor Abadil, as 
a feeble testimony of his grief for the death of the good knight 
Don Munio, and his reverence for his memory. The tender 
and faithful Donna Maria soon followed her lord to the tomb. 
On one of the stones of a smaU arch, beside liis sepulchre, is 
the following simple inscription: ^' Hie Jacet Maria Palacin, 
uxor Munonis Sancij cle Finojosa .•" Here hes Maria Palacin, 
wife of Munio Sancho de Hinojosa. 

The legend of Don Munio Sancho does not conclude with his 
death. On the same day on which the battle took place on the 
plain of Sahnanara, a chaplain of the Holy Temple at Jerusa- 
lem, while standing at the outer gate, beheld a train of Chris- 
tian cavaliers advancing, as if in pilgrimage. *Ihe chaplain 
was a native of Spain, and as the pilgrims approached, he 
knew the foremost to be Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa, with 
whom he had been well acquainted in former times. Hasten- 
ing to the patriarch, he told him of the honorable rank of the 
pilgrims at the gate. The patriarch, therefore, wont forth 
with a grand pirocession of priests and monks, and received 
the pilgrims with all due honor. There were seventy cava- 
liers, beside their leader, all stark and lofty warriors. They 
carried their helmets in their hands, and their faces were 
deadly pale. They greeted no one, nor looked either to the 
right or to the left, but entered the chapel, and kneeling be- 
fore the Sepulchre of our Saviour, performed their orisons in 
silence. When they had concluded, they rose as if to depart, 
and the patriarch and his attendants advanced to speak to 
them, but they were no more to be seen. Every one mar- 
velled what could bo the meaning of this prodigy. The patri- 
arch carefully noted down the day, and sent to Castile to learn 
tidings of Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa. He received for 
reply, that on the very day specified, that worthy knight, with 
seventy of his foUowc .'S, had been slain in battle. These, 
therefore, must have been the blessed spirits of those Chris- 
tian warriors, come to fulfil their vow of a pilgrimage to tlio 
Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. Such was Castihan faith, in 
the olden time, which kept its word, even beyond the grave. 

If any one should doubt of the miraculous apparition cf 
these phantom knights, let him consult the History of the 
Kings of Castile ar4 Leon, by the learned and pious Fray 
Prudencio de Sandoval, Bishop of Pamplona, where he will 
find it recoj'ded in the History of the King Don Alonzo VI., on 



86 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

the hundred and second page. It is too precious a legend to 
be Hghtly abandoned to the doubter. 



COMMUNIPAW. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir : I observe, with pleasure, that you are performing from 
time to time a pious duty, imposed upon you, I may say, by 
the name you have adopted as your titular standard, in fol- 
lowing in the footsteps of the venerable Knickerbocker, ancl 
gleaning every fact concerning the early times of the Manhat- 
toes which may have escaped liis hand. I trust, therefore, a 
few particulars, legendary and statistical, concerning a place 
which figures conspicuously in the early pages of his history, 
will not be unacceptable. I allude, Sir, to the ancient and 
renowned village of Communipaw, which, according to the 
veracious Diedrich, and to equally veracious tradition, was 
the first spot where our ever-to-be-lamented Dutch progeni- 
tors planted their standard and cast the seeds of empire, and 
from whence subsequently sailed the memorable expedition 
under Oloffe the Dreamer, which landed on the opposite island 
of Manhatta, and founded the present city of New- York, the 
city of dreams and speculations. 

Communipaw, therefore, may truly be called the parent of 
New- York ; yet it is an astonishing fact, that though immedi- 
ately opposite to the great city it has produced, from whence 
its red roofs and tin weather-cocks can actually be descried 
peering above the surrounding apple orchards, it should be 
almost as rarely visited, and as little known by the inhabi- 
tants of the metropolis, as if it had been locked up among the 
Rocky Mountains. Sir, I think there is something unnatural 
in this, especially in these times of ramble and research, w'-^en 
our citizens are antiquity-hunting in every part of the world. 
Cariosity, like charity, should begin at home; and I would 
enjoin it on our worthy burghers, especially those of the real 
Knickerbocker breed, before they send their sons abroad to 
Avonder and grow wise among the remains of Greece and 
Rome, to let them make a tour of ancient Pavonia, from Wee- 
hawk even to the Kills, and meditate, with fihal reverence, on 
the moss-errown mansions of Communipaw. 



COMMUMPA W. 87 

Sir, I regard this much-neglected village as one of the most 
remarkable places in the country. The intelligent traveller, 
as he looks down \ygoxi it from the Bergen Heights, modestly 
nestled among its cabbage-gardens, while the great flaunting 
city it has begotten is stretching far and wide on the opposite 
side of the bay, the mtellip-ont traveller, I say, will be filled with 
astonishment ; not. Sir, at the village of Communipaw, which 
in truth is a very small village, but at the almost incredible 
fact that so small a village should have produced so great a 
city. It looks to him, mdeed, like some squat httle dame, 
with a tall grenadier of a son strutting by her side ; or some 
simple-hearted hen that has unwittingly hatched out a long- 
legged turkey. 

But this is not alt for Avliich Communipaw is remarkable. 
Sir, it is interesting on another account. It is to the ancient 
province of the New-Netherlands and the classic era of the 
Dutch dynasty, what Herculaneum and Pompeii are to an- 
cient Rome and the glorious days of the empire. Here every 
thing remains in statu quo, as it was in the days of Oloffc the 
Dreamer, Walter the Doubter, and the other worthies of the 
golden age ; the same broad-brimmed hats and broad-bottomed 
breeches: the same knee-buckles and shoe-bucldes ; the same 
close-quiUed caps and Hnsey-woolsey shoiii-gowns and petti- 
coats ; the same implements and utensils and forms and fash- 
ions ; m. a word, Communipaw at the present day is a ptcture 
of what New- Amsterdam was before the conquest. The "in- 
telligent traveller" aforesaid, as he treads its streets, is struck 
with the primitive character of every thing around him. In- 
stead of Grecian temples for dweUing-houses, with a great 
column of pine boards in the way of every window, he beholds 
high peaked roofs, gable ends to the street, with weather-cocks 
at top, and v/indows of all sorts and sizes ; large ones for the 
grown-up members of the family, and little ones for the little 
folk. Instead of cold marble porches, with close-locked doors 
and brass knockers, he sees the doors hospitably open; the 
worthy burgher smoldng his pipe on the old-fashioned stoor 
in front, with his " vrouw" knitting beside him; and the cat 
and her kittens at their foet sleeping in the sunshine. 

Astonished at the obsolete and -'old world " air of ever;>^ thing 
around him, the intelligent traveller demands how all this has 
come to pass. Herculanemn and Pompeii remain, it is true, 
unaffected by the varying fashions of centuries ; but they were 
buried by a volcano and preserved in ashes. What channed 



88 WOLFERTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIE. 

spell has kept this wonderful httle place unchanged, though in 
sight of the most changeful city in the universe? Has it, too, 
been buried under its cabbage-gardens, and only dug out in 
modern days for the wonder and edification of the world? The 
reply involves a point of history, worthy of notice and record, 
and reflecting immortal honor on Conmiunipaw. 

At the time when ]?i'ew- Amsterdam was invaded and con- 
quered by British foes, as has been related in the history of the 
venerable Diedrich, a great dispersion took place among the 
Dutch inhabitants. Many, Hke the illustrious P^ter Stuyves- 
ant, buried themselves in lural retreats in the Bowerie ; othei-s, 
like Wolfert Acker, took refuge in various remote parts of the 
Hudson ; but there was one staunch, unconquerable band that 
determined to keep together, and preserve themselves, like 
seed corn, for the future fructification and perpetuity of the 
Knickerbocker race. These were headed by cne Garret Van 
Home, a gigantic Dutchman, the Pelayo of the New-Nether- 
lands. Under his guidance, they retreated across the bay and 
buried themselves among the marshes of ancient Pavonia, as 
did the follower» of Pelayo among the mountains of Asturias, 
when Gpain was overrun by its Arabian invaders. 

The gallant Van Home set up his standard at Communipaw, 
and invited all those to rally under it, who were true Neder- 
landers at heart, and determined to resist all foreign intei-mix- 
ture 'or encroachment. A strict non-intercourse was observed 
with the captured city; not a boat ever crossed to it from 
Communipaw, and the Enghsh language was rigorously tabooed 
throughout the village and its dependencies. Every man was 
sworn to wear his hat, cut liis coat, build his house, and har- 
ness his horses, exactly as his father had done before him ; and 
to permit nothing but the Dutch language to be spoken in his 
household. 

As a citadel of the place, and a strong-hold for the preserva- 
tion and defence of every thing Dutch, the gallant Van Hom.o 
erected a lordly mansion, with a chimney perched at every 
corner, which thence derived the aristocratical name of " The 
House of the Four Chimneys." Hither he transferred many of 
the precious r cliques of Ne w- Amsterdam ; the great round- 
crowned hat that once covered the capacious head of Wal- 
ter the Doubter, and the identical shoe with which Peter the 
Headstrong kicked his pusillanimous councillors down-stairs. 
St. Nicholas, it is said, took this loyal hoiise under his especial 
protection ; and a Dutch soothsayer predicted, that as long as 



coM:J:u^'IPAW. 89 

it should stand, Communipa-y would be safe from the intrusion 
either of Briton or Yankee. 

In this house would the gaUant Van Home and his compeers 
hold frequent council.s of war, as to the possibility of re-conquer- 
ing the province from the British ; and hero would they sit 
for hours, nay, days, together smoking their pipes and keeping 
watch upon the growing city of New-York ; groaning in spirit 
Avhenevcr they saw a new house erected or ship launched, and 
persuading themselves that Admiral Van Tromp would one day 
or other arrive to sweep out the invaders with the broom which 
he carried at his mast-head. 

Years rolled by, but Van Tromp never arrived. The British 
strengthened themselves in the land, and the captured city 
flourished under their domination. Still, the worthies of Oom- 
munipaw would not despair; something or other, they were 
sure, would turn up to restore the power of the Hogen Mogens, 
the Lord States-General ; so they kept smoking and smo.iing, 
and watching and watching, and turning the same few thoughts 
over and over in a perpetual circle, which is commonly called 
deliberating. In the mean time, being henmied up within a 
narrow compass, between the broad bay and the Bergen hills, 
they grew poorer and poorer, until they had scarce the where- 
withal to maintain their pipes in fuel during their endless 
deliberations. 

And now must I relate a circumstance which will call for a little 
exertion of faith on the part of the reader ; but I can only say 
that if he doubts it, he had better not utter his doubts in Com- 
munipaw, as it is among the religious behef s of the place. It is, 
in fact, nothing more nor less than a miracle, worked by the 
blessed St. Nicholas, for the rehef and sustenance of this loyal 
connnimity. 

It so happened, in this time of extremity, that in the course 
of cleaning the House of the Four Chimneys, by an ignorant 
housewife who knew nothing of the historic value of the rel- 
iques it contained, the old hat of Walter the Doubter and the 
executive shoe of Peter the Headstrong were thrown out of 
doors as rubbish. But mark the consequence. The good St. 
Nicholas kept watch over these precious reliques, and wrought 
out of them a wonderful providence. 

The hat of Walter the Doubter falling on a stercoraceous 
heap of compost, in the rear of the house, began forthwith to 
vegetate. Its broad brim spread forth grandly and exfoliated, 
and its round crown swelled and crimped and consoHdated 



00 WOLFERTS ROOST A2\l) MISCELLANIES. 

until the whole became a prodigious cabbage, rivalling in mag- 
nitude the capacious head of the Doubter. In a word, it was 
the origin of that reno-vvned species of cabbage known, by all 
Dutch epicures, by the name of the Governor's Head, and 
which is to this day the glor;>- oi Communipaw. 

On the other hand, the shoe of Peter Stuyvesant being thrown 
into the river, in front of the house, gradually hardened and 
concreted, and became covered with barnacles, and at length 
turned into a gigantic oyster, being the progenitor of that illus- 
trious species known throughout the gastronomical world by 
the naiuc of the Governor's Foot. 

These miracles Avere the salvation of Communipaw. The 
sages of the place immediately saw in them the hand of St. 
Nicholas, and understood their mystic signification. They set 
to Avork with all diligence to cidtivate and multiply these gi-eat 
blessings; and so abiuidantly did the gubernatorial hat and 
shoe fi'uctif y and increase, that in a little time gi-eat patches of 
cabbages were to be seen extending from the village of Com- 
munipaw quite to the Bergen Hills ; Avhile the whole bottom of 
the bay in front became a vast bed of oystei-s. Ever since that 
time this excellent community has been divided into two great 
classes : those who cultivate the land and those who cultivate the 
water. Tlie former have devoted themselves to the nurture 
and edification of cabbages, rearing them in all their varieties; 
while the latter have formed parks and plantations, under 
water, to which juvenile oysters are transplanted from foreign 
parts, to finish their education. 

As these great sources of profit multiplied upon their hands, 
the worthy mhabitants of CommunipaAv began to long for a 
market at Avhich to dispose of their superabundance. This 
gradually produced once more an intercourse Asdth New- York ; 
but it was always carried on by the old people and the negroes ; 
never would they permit the young folks, of either sex, to visit 
the city, lest they should get tainted with foreign manners and 
bring home foreign fashions. Even to this day, if you see an 
old burgher in the market, with hat and garb of antique Dutch 
fashion, you may be sure he is one of the old unconquered race 
of the '' bitter blood," who maintain their strong-hold at Com- 
munipaw. 

In modem days, the hereditary bitterness against the English 
has lost much of its asperity, or rather has become merged in 
a new source of jealousy and apprehension : I allude to the inces- 
sant and wide-spreading irruptions from New-England. Word 



COMMUNIPAW, 91 

has been continually brought back to Communipaw, by those 
of the community who return from their trading voyages in 
cabbages and oysters, of the alarming power which the Yan- 
kees are gaining in the ancient city of New -Amsterdam ; elbow- 
ing the genuine Knickerbockers out of all civic posts of honor 
and profit; bargaining them out of their hereditary home- 
steads; pulhng down the venerable houses, with crow-step 
gables, which have stood since the time of the Dutch rule, 
and erecting, instead, granite stores, and marble banks; in 
a word, evincing a deadly determination to obliterate every 
vestige of the good old Dutch times. 

In consequence of the jealousy thus awakened, the worthy 
tradei's from Communipaw confine their deahngs, as much as 
possible, to the genuine Dutch families. If they furnish the 
Yankees at all, it is with inferior articles. Never can the latter 
procure a real "Governor's Head," or "Governor's Foot," 
though they have offered extravagant prices for the same, 
to grace their table on the annual festival of the New-England 
Society. 

But what has carried this hostility to the Yankees to the 
highest pitch, was an attempt made by that all-pervading race 
to get possession of Communipaw itself. Yes, Sir ; during the 
late mania for land speculation, a daring company of Yankee 
projectors landed before the village ; stopped the honest burgh- 
ers on the public highway, and endeavored to bargain them 
out of their hereditary acres ; displayed lithographic maps, in 
which their cabbage-gardens were laid out into town lots ; their 
oyster-parks into docks and quays ; and even the House of the 
Four Chimneys metamorphosed into a bank, which was to 
enrich the whole neighborhood with paper money. 

Fortunately, the gallant Van Homes came to the rescue, just 
as some of the worthy burghers were on the point of capitulat- 
ing. The Yankees were put to the rout, with signal confusion, 
a,nd have never since dared to show their faces in the place. 
The good people continue to cultivate their cabbages, and rear 
their oysters ; they know nothing of banks, nor joint stock com- 
panies, but treasure up their money in stocking-feet, at the 
bottom of the family chest, or bury it in iron pots, as did their 
fathers and gTandfathers before them. 

As to the House of the Four Chimneys, it still remains in the. 
great and tall family of the Van Homes, Here are to be seen, 
ancient Dutch corner cupboards, chests of drawers, and mas- 
sive clotheii-presses, quaintly carved, and carefuUy waxed and 



92 WOLFEBTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

polished ; together with divers thick, black-letter volumes, with 
brass clasps, printed of yore in Leyden and Amsterdam, and 
handed down from generation to generation, in the family, but 
never read. They are preserved in the archives, among sun- 
dry old parchment deeds, in Dutch and Enghsh, bearing the 
seals of the early governors of the province. 

In this house, the primitive Dutch holidays of Paas and 
Pinxter are f aitlif ully kept up ; and New- Year celebrated with 
cookies and cherry -bounce ; nor is the festival of the blessed 
St. Nicholas forgotten, when all the children are sure to hang 
up their stockings, and to have them filled according to their 
deserts; though, it is said, the good saint is occasionally per- 
plexed in his nocturnal visits, which chimney to descend. 

Of late, this portentous mansion has begun to give signs of 
dilapidation and decay. Some have attributed this to the 
visits made by the young people to the city, ^nd their bringing 
thence various modern fashions; and to their neglect of the 
Dutch language, which is gradually becoming confined to the 
older persons in the community. The house, too, was greatly 
shaken by high winds, during the prevalence of the speculation 
mania, especially at the time of the landing of the Yankees. 
Seeing how mysteriously the fate of Communipaw is identified 
with this venerable mansion, we cannot wonder that the older 
and wiser heads of the community should be filled with dismay, 
whenever a brick is toppled down from one of the chimneys, or 
a weather-cock is blown off from a gable-end. 

The present lord of this historic pile, I am happy to say, is 
calculated to maintain it ia all its integrity. He is of patri- 
archal age, and is worthy of the days of the patriarchs. He 
has done his utmost to iucrease and multiply the true race in 
the land. His wife has not been inferior to him in zeal, and 
they are surrounded by a goodly progeny of children, and 
grand-children, and great-gi'and-children, who promise to per- 
petuate the name of Van Home, until time shall be no more. 
So be it ! Long m?iy the horn of the Van Homes continue to 
be exalted in the land ! Tali as they are, may their shadows 
never be less ! May the House of the Four Chimneys remain 
for ages, the citadel of Communipaw, and the smoke of its 
Chimneys continue to ascend, a sweet-smelling incense in the 
hose of St. Nicholas ! 

With great respect, Mr. Editor, 

Your ob't servant, 

Hermanus Vanderdonk. 



GONSPIUACT OF THE COOKED HATS. 93 

CONSPIRACY OF THE COCKED HATS. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir: I have read with great satisfaction the valuable paper 
of your correspondent, Mr. Hermanus Vanderdonk, (who, I 
take it, is a descendant of the learned Adrian Vanderdonk, one 
of the early historians of the Nieuw-Nederlands,) giving sundry 
particulars, legendary and statistical, touching the venerable 
village of Communipaw and its fate-bound citadel, the House 
of the Four Chimneys. It goes to prove what I have repeatedly 
maintained, that we.live in the midst of history and mystery 
and romance ; and that there is no spot in the world more rich 
in themes for the writer of historic novels, heroic melodramas, 
and rough-shod epics, than this same business-looking city of 
the Manhattoes and its environs. He who would find these 
elements, however, must not seek them among the modeiii 
improvements and modern people of tliis moneyed metropolis, 
but must dig for them, as for Kidd the pirate's treasures, in 
out-of-the-way places, and among the ruins of the past. 

Poetry and romance received a fatal blow^t the overthrow of 
the ancient Dutch dynasty, and have ever since been gradually 
withering under the growing domination of the Yankees. They 
abandoned our hearths when the old Dutch tiles were super- 
seded by marble chimney-pieces ; when brass andirons made 
way for polished grates, and the crackling and blazing fire of 
nut-wood gave place to the smoke and stench of Liverpool 
coal; and on the downfall of the last g:\ble-end house, theii- 
requiem was tolled from the tower of the Dutch church in 
Nassau-street by the old bell that came from Holland. But 
poetry and romance still live unseen among us, or seen only by 
the enlightened few, who are able to contemplate this city and 
its environs through the medium of tradition, and clothed with 
the associations of foregone ages. 

Would you seek these elements in the country, Mr. Editor, 
avoid all t-irnpikes, rail-roads, and steamboats, tliQse abomina- 
ble inventions by which the usurping Yankees are strengthen- 
ing themselves in the land, and subduing every thing to utility 
and common-place. Avoid all towns and cities of white clap- 
board palaces and Grecian temples, studded Avith "Academics," 
*' Seminaries," and "Institutes," which glisten along our bays 



94 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

and rivers; these are the strong-holds of Yankee usurpation;' 
but if haply you light upoci some rough, rambling road, wind- 
ing between stone fences, gray with moss, and overgrown withj 
elder, poke-berry, mullein, and sweet-briar, with here and! 
there a low, red-roofed, whitewashed farm-house, cowering 
among app-'le and cherry trees ; an old stone church, with elms, 
willows, and button-woods, as old-looking as itself, and tomb- 
stones almost buried in their own graves ; and, perad venture, 
a small log school-house at a cross-road, where the English is 
still taught with a thickness of the tongue, instead of a twang 
of the nose ; should you, I say, hght upon such a neighborhood, 
Mr. Editor, you may thank your stars that you have found one 
of the lingering haunts of poetry and romance. 

Your correspondent. Sir, has touched upon that subhme and 
affecting feature in the history of Communipaw, the retreat of 
the patriotic band of Nederlanders, led by Van Home, whom 
he justly terms the Pelayo of the New-Netherlands. He has 
given you a i)icture of the manner in which they ensconced 
themselves in the House of the Four Chimneys, and awaited 
with heroic patience and perseverance the day that should see 
the flag of the Hogen Mogens once more floating on the fort of 
New- Amsterdam. 

Your correspondent, Su', has but given you a ghmpse over 
the threshold ; I will now let you into the heart of the mystery 
of this most mysterious and eventful village. Yes, sfr, I will 
now 

" unclasp a secret book; 

And to your quick conceiving discontents, 
I'll read you mattft- deep and dangerous. 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit, 
As to o'er v.alk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear." 

Sir, it is one of the most beautififl and interesting facts con- 
nected with the history of Communipaw, that the early feel- 
ing of resistance to foreign rule, alluded to by your corre- 
spondent, is stiU kept up. Yes, sir, a settled, secret, and detei*- 
mined conspiracy has been going on for generations among 
tliis indomitable people, the descendants of the refugees from 
New-Amster<Jam ; the object of which is to redeem their an- 
cient seat of empire, and to drive the losel Yankees out of the 
land. 

Communipaw, it ie true, has the glory of originating this 
conspiracy; and it was hatched and reared in the House of the 
Four Cliimneys; but it has spread far and wide over ancient 



CONSPIRACY OF THE COCKED HATS. 



\3i) 



Pavonia, surmounted the heights of Bergen-, Hoboken, and 
Weehawk, crept up along the banks of the Passaic and the 
Hackensack, until it pervades the whole chivahy of the coun- 
try from Tappan Slote in the north to Piscataway in the south, 
including the pugnacious village of Rahway, more heroically 
denominated Spank-town. 

Throughout aU these regions a great "in-and-in confederacy" 
prevails, that is to say, a confederacy among the Dutch fami- 
lies, by dint of diligent and exclusive intermarriage, to ]<:eep 
the race pure and to multiply. If ever, Mr. Editor, in the 
course of your travels between Spank-town and Tappaji Slote, 
you should see a cosey, low-eaved farm-house, teeming with 
sturdy, broad-built little urchins, you may set it down as one 
of the breeding places of this grand secret confederacy, stocked 
with the embryo deliverers of New- Amsterdam. 

Another step in the progress of this patriotic conspiracy, is 
the establishment, in various places within the ancient boun- 
daries of the Nieuw-Nederlands, of secret, or rather mysterious 
associations, composed of the genume sons of the Nederlanders, 
with the ostensible object of keeping up the memory of old 
times and customs, but with the real object of promoting the 
v.iews of this dark and mighty plot, and extending its ramifi- 
cations throughout the land. 

Sir, I am descended from a long line of genuine Nederland- 
ers, who, though they remained in the city of New- Amsterdam 
after the conquest, and throughout the usurpation, have never 
in their hearts been able to tolerate the yoke imposed upon 
them. My worthy father, who was one of the last of the 
cocked hats, had a little knot of cronies, of his own stamp, who 
used to meet in our wainscoted parlor, roimd a nut-wood fire, 
talk over old times, when the city was ruled by its native 
burgomasters, and groan over the monopoly of all places of 
power and profit by the Yankees. I well recollect the effect 
upon this worthy little conclave, when the Yankees first insti- 
tuted their New-England Society, held their "national festival," 
toasted their "father land," and sang their foreign songs of tri- 
umph within the very precincts of our ancient metropoHs. 
Sir, from that day, my father held the smell of codfish and po- 
tatoes, and the sight of pumpkin pie, in utter abomination; 
and whenever the annual dinner of the New-England Society 
came round, it was a sore anniversary for his children. He 
got up in an ill humor, grumbled and growled throughout the 
day, and not one of us went to bed that night, without having 



96 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

had his jacket well trounced, to the tune of "The Pilgrim 

Fathers." 

You may judge, then, Mr. Editor, of the exaltation of all 
truo patriots of this stamp, when the Society of Saint Nich- 
ola'^ was set up among us, and intrepidly established, cheek by 
jole, alongside of the society of the mvadcrs. Never shall I 
forget th^ effect upon my father and his little knot of brother 
grcancrs, when tidings were brought them that the ancient 
banner of the Manhattoes was P«^tiially floating from the win- 
do^- of the City Hotel. Sir, they nearly jumped out of their 
silver-buckled shoes for joy. They took down their cocked 
hats from the pegs on which they had hanged them, as the 
Israelites of yore hung their harps upon the willows, in token 
of bondage, clapped them resolutely once more upon their 
heads, and cocked them in the face of every Yankee they met 
on the way to the banqueting-room. 

The institution of this society was hailed with transport 
throughout the whole extent of the New-Netherlands; being 
considered a secret foothold gained in New- Amsterdam, and a 
flattering presage of future triumph. Whenever that society 
holds its annual feast, a sympathetic hilarity prevails thi^ough- 
out the land ; ancient Pavonia sends over its contributions of 
cabbages and oysters; the House of the Four Chimneys is 
splendidly illuniinatcd, and the traditional song of St. Nicholas, 
the mystic bond of union and conspiracy, is chamited with 
clased doors, in every genuine Dutch family. 

1 have thuL , I truso, Mr. Editor, opened your eyes to some of 
the gTand moral, poetical, and political phenomena with 
which you arc surrounded. You will now be able to read the 
"signs of the tmiec." You wil now understand what is meant 
by those ' ' Knickerbocker Halls, " and ' ' Knickerbocker Hotels, " 
and " KnickerL jcker Lunches,-" that are daily springing up 
in our city and what all these "Knickerbocker Omni- 
buses" are driving at. You will se^ in them so many clouds 
before a storm so many mysterious but sublime intimations 
of the gathering vengeance of a great though oppressed 
people. Above ali, you will now contemplate our bay and its 
portentous borderL, with proper feelings of awe and admiration. 
Talk of the Bay of Naples, and its volcanic inoantains ! Why, 
Sir, little Commu^iipaw, sleeping among its cabbage gardens, 
"quiet as gunpowder," yet with this tremendous conspiracy 
brewing in its bosom is an object ten times as subUme 
(in a moral point of viow, mark me) as \ esuvius in repose, 



COX^SPIRACY OF TJIE COOKED HATS, 97 

though charged with lava and brimstone, and ready for an 
eiTjption. 

Let me advert to a circumstance connected with this theme, 
which cannot but be appreciated by every heart of sensibility. 
You must have remarked, Mr. Editor, on summer evenings, 
and on Sunday afternoons, certain grave, primitive-looking 
personages, walking the Battery, in close confabulation, with 
their canes beliind their backs, and ever and anon turning a 
wistful gaze toward the Jersey shore. These, Sir, are the sons 
of Saint Nicholas, the genuine Nederlanders ; who regard Com- 
munipaw with pious reverence, not merely as the progenitor, 
but the destined regenerator, of this great metropolis. Yes, 
Sir ; they are looking Avith longing eyes to the green marshes 
of ancient Pavonia, as did the poor conquered Spaniards of 
yore toward the stern mountains of Asturias, wondering 
whether the day of deliverance is at hand. Z^iany is the time, 
when, in my boyhood, I have walked with my father and his 
confidential compeers on the Battery, and listened to their cal- 
culations and conjectures, and observed the points of their 
sharp cocked ha^s evermore turned toward Pavonia. Nay, Sir, 
I am convinced that at this moment, if I were to take down the 
cocked hat of my lamented father from the peg on which it has 
hung for years, and were to carry it to the Battery, its centre 
point, true as the needle-to the pole, would turn to Communipaw. 

Mr. Editor, the great historic drama of New- Amsterdam, is 
but half acted. The reigns of Walter the Doubter, William 
the Testy, and Peter the Headstrong, with the rise, progress, 
and decline of the Dutch dynasty, are but so many parts of 
the main action, the triumjihant catastrophe of which is yet 
to come. Yes, Sir! the deliverance of the New-Nederlands 
from Yankee domination will eclipse the far-famed redemp- 
tion of Spain from the Moors, and the oft-sung conquest of 
Granada will fade before the chivalrous triumph of New- 
Amsterdam. Would that Peter Stuy vesant could rise from his 
grave to witness that day 1 

Your humble servant, 

RoLOFF Van Ripper. 



P. S. Just as I had concluded the foregoing epistle, I received 
a piece of intelligence, which makes me tremble for the fate of 
Communipaw. I fear, Mr. Editor, the grand conspiracy is in 
danger of being countennined and counteracted, by those all- 



98 WOLFERTS UOOIST AJVD MI!S(JELLANIES. 

pervading and indefatigable Yankees. Would you think it, 
Sii* ! one of them has actually effected an entry in the place by 
covered way ; or in other words, under coverof the petticoats. 
Finding every other mode ineffectual, he secretly laid siege to 
a Dutch heiress, who owns a great cabbage-garden m her 
own right. Being a smooth-tongued varlet, he easily prevailed 
on her to elope with him, and they were privately married at 
Spank-town! The first notice the good people of Commimi- 
paw had of this awful event, was a lithographed map of the 
cabbage garden laid out in town lots, and advertised for sale ! 
On the night of the wedding, the main weather-cock of the 
House of the Four Chunneys was carried away in a whirl- 
wind! The greatest consternation reigns throughout the 
village I 



A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE. 

Sir : I observed in your last month's peiiodical, a communi- 
cation from a Mr. Yanderdonk, giving some information con- 
cerning Communipaw. I heremth send you, Mr. Editor, a 
legend connected with that place ; and am much surprised iu 
should have escaped the researches of your ver*y authentic cor- 
respondent, as it relates to an edifice scarcely less fated than 
the House of the Four Chimneys. I give you the legend m its 
crude and simple state, as I heard it Belated ; it is capable, how- 
ever, of being dilated, inflated, and dressed up into very im- 
posing sliape raid dimensions. Should any of your ingenious 
contributors in this line feel inchncd to take it in hand, they 
will find ample materials, collateral and illustrative, among 
the papers of the late Reinier Skaats, many years since crier 
or tiie court, and keeper of the City Hall, in the city of the 
Manliattoes ; or in the library of that important and utterly re- 
nowned functionary, Mr. Jacob Hays, longtime high constable, 
who, in the coiu'se of his extensive researches, has amassed 
an amount of valuable facts, to be livalled only by that great 
historical collection, "The Newgate Calendar." 

Your liumble sei-vant, 

Barent Van Schaick. 



A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 99 

GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND, 

A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 

Whoever has visited the ancient and renowned village 
of Conimunipaw, may have noticed an old stone building, 
of most ruinous and sinister appearance. The doors and win- 
dow-shutters are ready to drop from their hinges ; old clothes 
are stuffed in the broken panes of glass, while legions of half- 
starved dogs prowl about the premises, and rush out and bark 
at every passer-by; for your "beggarly house in a village is 
most apt to swarm with profligate and ill-conditioned dogs. 
What adds to the sinister appearance of this mansion, is a tall 
frame in front, not a Uttle resembling a gallows, and which 
looks as if waiting to acconmiodate some of the inhabitants 
with a well-merited airing. It is not a gallows, however, but 
an ancient sign-post ; for this dwelhng, in the golden days of 
Communipaw, was one of the most orderly and peaceful of 
village taverns, where all the pubhc affairs of Communipaw 
were talked and smoked over. In fact, it was in this very 
building that Oloffe the Dreamer, and his companions, con- 
certed that great voyage of discovery and colonization, in which 
they explored Buttermilk Channel, were nearly shipwrecked in 
the strait of Hell-gate, and finally landed on the Island of Man- 
hattan, and founded the great city of New- Amsterdam. 

Even after the province had been cruelly wrested from the 
sway of their High Mightinesses, by the combined forces of the 
British and Yankees, this tavern continued its ancient loyalty. 
It is true, the head of the Prince of Orange disappeared from 
the sign ; a strange bird being painted over it, with the explan- 
atory legend of "Die Wilde Gans," or The Wild Goose; but 
this all the world knew to be a sly riddle of the landlord, the 
worthy Tennis Van Gieson, a knowing man in a smaU way, 
who laid his finger beside his nose and winked, when any 
one studied the signification of his sign, and observed that his 
p:oose was hatching, but would join the flock whenever they 
flew over the water; an eniprma which was the perpetual rec- 
reation and dehght of the loyal but fat-headed burghers of 
Communipaw. 

Under the sway of this patriotic, though discreet and quiet 
public&n, the tavern continued to flourish in primeval tran- 



3(!0 WOLFERT'S BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

quillity, and was the resort of all true-hearted Nederlanders, 
from all parts of Pavonia ; who met here quietly and secretly, 
to smoke and drink the downfall of Briton and Yankee, and 
success to Admiral Van Tromp. 

The only drawback on the comfort of the establishment, was 
a nephew of mine host, a sister's son, Yan Yost Vanderscamp 
by name, and a real scamp by nature. This unlucky whipster 
showed an early propensity to mischief, wliich he gratified in 
a small way, by playing tricks upon the frequenters of the 
Wild Goose; putting gunpowder in their pipes, or squibs in 
their pockets, and astonishing them with an explosion, while 
they sat nodding round the fire-place in the bar-room; and if 
perchance a worthy burgher from some distant part of Pavonia 
had lingered until dark oyer his potation, it was odds but that 
young Vanderscamp would slip a briar under his horse's tail, 
as he mounted, and send him clattering along the road, in neck' 
or-nothing style, to liis infinite astonishment and discomfiture. 

It may be wondered at, that mine host of the Wild Goose did 
not turn such a graceless varlet out of doors ; but Tennis Van 
Gieson was an easy-tempered man, and, having no child of his 
own, looked upon his nephew with almost parental indulgence. 
His patience and good-nature were doomed to be tried by an' 
other inmate of his mansion. This was a cross-grained cur' 
mudgeon of a negTO, named Pluto, who was a kind of enigma 
in Communipaw. Where he came from, nobody knew. He 
was found one morning, after a storm, cast like a sea-monster 
on the strand, in front of the Wild Gooce, and lay there, more 
dead than alive. The neighbors gathered round, and specu- 
lated on this production of the deep ; whether it were fish or 
flesh, or a compound of both, commonly yclept a merman. 
The kind-hearted Teunis Van Gieson, seeing that he wore the 
human form, took him jnto his house, and warmed liim into 
life. By degrees, he showed signs of intelligence, and even 
uttered sounds very much like language, but which no one in 
Communipaw could understand. Some thought him a negro 
just from Guinea, who had either fallen overboard, or escaped 
from a slave-ship. Nothing, however, could ever draw from 
him any account of his origin. When questioned on the sub- 
ject, he merely pointed to Gibbet-Island, a email rocky islet, 
which lies in the open bay, just opposite to Communipaw, as 
if that were his native place, though every body knew it had 
never been inhabited. 

In the process of time, he acquired s«Mne thing of the Dutch 



A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. Id 

language, that is to say, he learnt all its vocabulary of oaths 
and maledictions, with just words sufficient to string them to- 
gether. " Bonder en blicksen !" (thunder and lightning,) ^vas 
the gentlest of liis ejaculations. For years he kept about the 
"Wild Goose, more like one of those familiar spirits, or house- 
hold gobhns, that we read of, than hke a human being. He 
acknowledged aliegiance to no one, but performed various 
domestic offices, when it suited liis humor ; waiting occasion- 
ally on the guests ; grooming the horses, cutting wood, drawing 
water ; and all this without being ordered. Lay any command 
on him, and the stubborn sea-urchin was sure to rebel. He was 
never so much at home, however, as when on the water, plying 
about in skiff or canoe, entirely alone, fishing, crabbing, or 
grabbing for oysters, and would bring home quantities for the 
larder of the "Wild Goose, wliich he would throw down at the 
kitchen door, with a growl. No wind nor v/eather deterred him 
from launching forth on liis favorite element: indeed, the 
Avhder the weather, the more he seemed to enjoy io. If a 
storm was brewing, he was sure to put off from shore; and 
would be seen far out in the bay, his light skiff dancing hke a 
feather on the waves, when sea and sky were all in a turmoil, 
and the stoutest ships were fain to lower their sails. Some- 
times, on such occasions, he would be absent for days together. 
How he weathered the tempest, and how and where he sub- 
sisted, no one could divine, nor did any one venture to ask, for 
all had an almost superstitious awe of him. Some of the Com- 
munipaw oystermen declared that they had more than once 
seen him suddenly disappear, canoe and all, as if they plunged 
beneath the waves, and after a while come up again, in quite a 
different part of the bay ; whence they concluded that he could 
live under water like that notable species of wild duck, com- 
monly called the Hell-diver. All began to consider him in the 
light of a foul- weather bird, like the Mother Carey's Chicken, 
or Stormy Petrel ; and whenever they saw liim putting far out 
in his skiff, in cloudy weather, made up their minds for a 
storm. 

The only being for whom he seemed to have any liking, was 
Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and him he liked for his very wicked- 
ness. He in a manner took the boy under his tutelaore, 
prompted him to all kinds of mischief, aided him in every wild, 
harum-scarum freak, until the lad became the complete scape- 
gi'ace of the^ village ; a pest to his uncle, and to every one else. 
Nor were his pranks confined to the land ; he soon learned to 



102 WOLFnjRTS BOOST AMJ MISCELLANIES. 

ax3Company old Piuto on the water. Together these worthies 
would cruise about the broad bay, and all the neighboring 
straits and rivers ; poking around in skiffs and canoes ; robbing 
the set-nets of the fishermen; landing on remote coasts, and 
laying v/aste orchards and water-melon patches; in short, 
carrying on a complete system of piracy, on a small scale. 
Piloted by Pluto, the youthful Vanderscamp soon became 
acquainted with all the bays, rivers, creeks, and inlets of the 
watery world around him; could navigate from the Hook to 
Spiting-devii on the darkest night, and learned to set even the 
terrors of Hell-gate at defiance. 

At length, negro and boy suddenly disappeared, and days 
and weeks elapsed, but without tidings of them. Some said 
they must have run away and gone to sea; others jocosely 
hinted, that old Pluto, being no other than his namesake in 
disguise, had spirited away the boy to the nether regions. All, 
however, agreed in one thing, that the village was well rid 
of them. 

In the process of time, the good Teimis Van Gieson slept with 
his fathers, and the tavern remained shut up, waiting for a 
claimant, for the next heir was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and 
he had not been heard of for years. At length, one day, a boat 
was seen pulling for the shore, from a long, black, rakish-look- 
•ing schooner, that lay at anchor in the bay. The boat's crew 
seemed worthy of the craft from which they debarked. Never 
had such a set of noisy, roistering, swaggering varlets landed 
in peaceful Communipaw. They were outlandish in garb and 
demeanor, and were headed by a rough, burly, bully ruffian, 
with fiery whiskers, a copper nose, a scar across his face, and 
a gi'eat Flaunderish beaver slouched on one side of his head, in 
whom, to their dismay, the quiet inhabitants were made to 
recognize their early pest, Yan Yost Vanderscamp. The rear 
of this hopeful gang was brought up by old Pluto, who had lost 
an eye, grown grizzly-headed, and looked more like a devil 
thn,n ever. Vanderscamp renewed his acquaintance with the 
old burghers, much against their vv^ill, and in a manner not at 
all to their taste. He slapped them famiharly on the back, 
gave them an iron gi'ip of the hand, and was hail fellow well 
met. According to his own account, he had been all the world 
over; had made money by bacfs full; had sliips in every sea, 
and now meant to turn the "Wild Goose into a country seat, 
where he and his comrades, all rich merchants from foreign 
parts, might enjoy thetaselves in the interval of their voyages, 



A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 103 

Sure enough, in a little while there was a complete metamor- 
phose of the Wild Goose. From being a quiet, peaceful Dutoh 
public house, it became a most riotous, uproarious private 
dwelling ; a complete rendezvous for boisterous men of the seas, 
who came here to have what they called a " bloAv out" on dry 
land, and might be seen at all hours, lounging about the door, 
or lolling out of the windows; swearing among themselves, 
and cracking rough jokes on every passer-by. The house was 
fitted up, too, in so strange a maimer: haimnocks slung to the 
walls, instead of bedsteads ; odd kinds of furniture, of foreign 
fashion; bamboo couches, Spanish chairs; pistols, cutlasses, 
and blunderbusses, suspended on every peg; silver crucifixes 
on the mctntel-pieces, silver candle-sticks and porringers on 
the tables, contrastmg oddly with the pewter and Delf ware 
of the original estabhshment. And then the strange amuse- 
ments of these sea-monsters ! Pitcliing Spanish dollars, instead 
of quoits; firing blunderbusses out of the window; shoot- 
ing at a mark, or at any unhappy dog, or cat, or pig, or 
barn-door fowl, that might happen to come within reach. 

The only being who seemed to rehsh their rough waggery, 
was old Pluto ; and yet he led but a dog's life of it ; for they 
practised all kinds of manual jokes upon him; kicked liim 
about like a foot-ball ; shook him by his grizzly mop of wool, 
and never spoke to Mm without couphng a curse by way of 
adjective to his name, and consigning him to the infernal re- 
gions. The old fellow, however, seemed to like them tlie better, 
the more they cursed him, though Iiis utmost expression of 
pleasure never amounted to more than the growl of a petted 
bear, when his ears are rubbed. 

Old Pluto was the mini.stering spirit at the orgies of the Wild 
Goose; and such orgies as took place there! Such drinking, 
singing, whooping, sweaCTig; with an occasional interlude of 
quarrelling and fighting. The noisier grew the revel, the more 
old Pluto plied the potations, until the guests would become 
frantic in their merriment, smashing every thing to pieces, and 
throwing the house out of the windows. Sometimes, after a 
drinking bout, they salhed forth and scoured the village, to 
the dismay of the worthy burghers, who gathered their women 
within doors, and would have shut up the house. Vanderscamp, 
however, was not to be rebuffed. He insisted on renewing 
acquaintance with his old neighbors, and on introducing his 
friends, the merchants, to their families ; swore he was on the 
look-out for a wife, and meant, before he stopped, to find hus- 



104 WOLFEllTS ROOST A^'D MISCELLANIES. 

bands for all their daughters. So, wiH-je, nil-ye, sociable he 
was ; swaggered about their best parlors, with liis hat on ons 
side of liis head ; sat on the good wife's nicely- waxed mahogany 
table, kicking his heels against the carved and polished legs ; 
kissed and tousled the young vrouws ; and, if they frowned and 
pouted, gave them a gold rosary, or a sparkling cross, to put 
them in good humor again. 

Sometimes nothing would satisfy him, but he must have 
some of his old neighbors to dinner at the Wild Goose. 
There was no refusing him, for he had got the complete upper- 
hand of the community, and the peaceful burghers all stood 
in awe of liim. But what a time would the quiet, worthy 
men have, among these rake-hells, who would delight to as- 
tound them with the most extravagant gunpowder tales, em- 
broidered with all kinds of foreign oaths ; clink the can with 
them ; pledge them in deep potations ; bawl drinking songs in 
their ears; and occasionally fire pistols over their heads, or 
under the table, and then laugh in their faces, and ask them 
how they liked the smell Of gunpowder. 

Thus was the little village of Communipaw for a time like 
the unfortunate wight possessed with devils; until Vander- 
scamp and his brother merchants would sail on another 
trading voyage, when the VvT'ild Goose would be shut up, and 
every thing relapse into quiet, only to be disturbed by his next 
visitation. 

The mystery of all these proceedings gradually dawned upon 
the tardy intellects of Communipaw. These were the times 
of the notorious Captain Kidd, when the American harbors 
were the resorts of piratical adventurers of all kinds, who, 
under pretext of mercantile voyages, scoured the West Indies, 
made plundering descents upon the Spanish Main, visited 
even the remote Indian Seas, and then came to dispose of 
their booty, have their revels, and fit out new expeditions, in 
the English colonies. 

Vanderscamp had served in this hopeful school, and havimg 
risen to importance among the bucaniers, had pitched upon 
his native village and early home, as a quiet, out-of-the-way, 
unsuspected place, where he and his comrades, while anchored 
at New York, might have their feasts, and concert their plans, 
without molestation. 

At length the attention of the British government was called 
to these piratical enterprises, that were becoming so frequent 
and outrageous. Vigorous measures were taken to check and 



A LEGEND OF COMMVJS'IPAW. 105 

punish them. Several of the most noted freebooters were 
caught and executed, and three of Vanderscamp's chosen com- 
t-ades, the most riotous swash-bucklers of the Wild Goose, 
were 'hanged in chains on Gibbet-Island, in full sight of theii- 
favorite resort. As to Vanderscamp himself, he and his man 
Pluto again disappeared, and it was hoped by the people of 
Communipaw that he had fallen in some foreign braAvl, or 
been swung on some foreign gallows. 

For a time, therefore, the tranquillity of the viUage was re- 
stored; the worthy Dutchmen once more smoked their pipes 
in peace, eying, with peculiar complacency, their old pests and 
terrors, the pirates, danghng and drying in the sun, on Gibbet. 
Island. 

This perfect calm was doomed at length to be ruffled. The 
fiery persecution of the pirates gradually subsided. Justice 
was satisfied with the examples that had been made, and there 
was no more talk of Kidd, and the other heroes of like kidney. 
On a calm sunmier evening, a boat, somewhat heavily laden, 
was seen pulling into Communipaw. What was the surprise 
and disquiet of the inhabitants, to see Yan Yost Vanderscamp 
seated at the helm, and his man Pluto tugging at the oars! 
Vanderscamp, however, was apparently an altered man. He 
brought home ^vith him a wife, who seemed to be a shrew, 
and to have the upper-hand of hun. He no longer was the 
swaggering, bully ruffian, but affected the regular merchant, 
and talked of retiring from business, and settling do^vn 
quietly, to pass the rest of his days in his native place. 

The Wild Goose mansion was again opened, but with dimi- 
nished splendor, and no riot. It is true, Vanderscamp had fr^ 
quent nautical visitors, and the sound of revelry was occasion- 
ally overheard in his house: but every thing seemed to be done 
under the rose; and old Pluto was the only servant that offi- 
ciated at these orgies. The visitors, indeed, were by no means 
of the turbulent stamp of their predecessors; but quiet, mys- 
terious traders, full of nods, and winks, and hieroglyphic 
signs, with whom, to use their cant phrase, " every thing was 
smug." Their ships came to anchor at night in the lower bay; 
and, on a private signal, Vanderscamp would launch his boat, 
and accompanied solely by his man Pluto, would make them 
mysterious visits. Sometimes boats pulled in at night, in 
front of the Wild Goose, and various articles of merchandise 
were landed m the dark, and spirited away, nobody knew 
whither. One of the more curious of the inhabitants kept 



106 WOLFERTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

watch, and caught a glimpse of the features of some of these 
night visitors, by the casual glance of a lantern, and declared 
that he recognized more than one of the freebooting frequen- 
ters of the Wild Goose, in formes- times ; from whence he con- 
cluded that Vanderscamp was at his old game, and that this 
mysterious merchandise was nothing more nor less than 
piratical plunder. The more charitable opinion, however, was, 
that Vanderscamp and his comrades, having been driven 
from their old hne of business, by the " oppressions of govern- 
ment," had resorted to smuggling to make both ends meet. 

Be that as it may : I come now to the extraordinary fact, 
which is the butt-end of this story. It happened late one 
night, that Yan Yost Va'nderscamp was returning across the 
broad bay, in his light skiff, rowed by his man Pluto. He 
had been carousing on board of a vessel, newly arrived, and 
was somewhat obfuscated in intellect, by the Mquor he had 
imbibed. It was a still, sultry night ; a heavy mass of lurid 
clouds was rising in the west, with the low muttering of dis- 
tant thunder. Vanderscamp called on Pluto to pull lustily, 
that they might get home before the gathering storm. The 
old negro made no reply, but shaped his course so as to skirt 
the rocky shores of Gibbet-Island. A faint creaking overhead 
caused Vanderscamp to cast up his eyes, when, to his horror, 
he beheld the bodies of his three pot companions and brothers 
in iniquity dangling in the moonlight, their rags fluttering, and 
their chains creakinp:, as they were slowly swung backward 
and forward by the rising breeze. 

*'What do you mean, you blockhead !" cried Vanderscamp, 
" by pulling so close to the island?" 

" I thought you'd be glad to see your old friends once more," 
growled the negro; "you were never afraid of a hving man, 
what do you fear from the dead?" 

" Who's afraid?" hiccupped Vanderscamp, partly heated by 
liquor, partly nettled by the jeer of the negro; "who's afraid 1 
Ha.ng me, but I would be glad to see them once more, alive or 
dead, at the Wild Goose. Come, my lads in the wind 1" con- 
tinued he, taking a draught, and flourishing the bottle above 
his head, " here's fair weather to you in the other world; and 
if you should be walking the rounds to-night, odds fish! but 
I'll be happy if you will drop in to supper." 

A dismal creaking was the only reply. The wind blew loud 
and shi-ill, and as it whistled round the gallows, and among the 
bones, sounded as if there were laughing and gibbering in the 



A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 107 

air. Old Pluto chuckled to himself, and now pulled for home. 
The storm burst over the voyagers, while they were yet far 
from shore. The rain fell in torrents, the thunder crashed and 
pealed, and the lightning kept up an incessant blaze. It was 
stark midnight, before the^^ landed at Communipaw. 

Dripping and shivering, Vanderscamp crawled homeward. 
He was completely sobered by the storm ; the water soaked 
from without, havmg diluted and cooled the hquor within. 
Arrived at the Wild Goose, he knocked timidly aud dubiously 
at the door, for he dreaded the reception he was to experience 
from his wife. He had reason to do so. She met him at the 
threshold, in a precious ill humor. 

"Is this a time," said she, "to keep people out of their beds, 
and to bring home company, to turn the house upside down?" 

"Company?" said' Vanderscamp, meekly; "I have brought 
IK) company with me, wife. " 

"No, indeed! they have got here before you, but by your 
invitation; and blessed-looking company they are, truly!" 

Vanderscamp's knees smote together. " For the love of 
heaven, where are they, wiib?" 

"Where? — why, iii the blue-room, up-stairs, making them- 
selves as much at home as if the house were their own. " 

Vanderscamp made a desperate effort, scrambled up to the 
room, and threw open the door. Sure enough, there at a table, 
on which burned a light as blue as brimstone, sat the three 
guests from Gibbet-Island, with halters round their necks, and 
bobbing their cups together, as if they were hob-or-nobbing, 
and trolling the old Dutch freebooter's glee, since translated 
into Enghsh : 

" For three merry lads be we, 
And three merry lads be we ; 
I on the land, and thou on the sand, 
And Jack on the gallows-tree." 

Vanderscamp saw and heard no more. Starting back with 
horror, he missed his footing on the landing-place, and fell 
from the top of the stairs to the bottom. He was taken up 
speechless, and, either from the fall or the fright, was buried 
in the yard of the little Dutch church at Bergen, on the fol- 
lowing Sunday. 

From that day forward, the fate of the Wild Goose was 
sealed. It was pronounced a haunted house, and avoided ac- 
cordingly. No one inhabited it but Vanderscamn's shrew of 
a widow, and old Pluto, and they were considered but Uttle 



108 WOLFERTS BOOST A^'I) MISCELLANIES. 

better than its hobgoblin visitors. Pluto grew more and more 
haggard and morose, and looked more like an imp of darkness 
than a human being. He spoke to no one, but went about mut- 
tering to liimself ; or, as some hinted, talking with the devil, 
who, though unseen, was ever ut his elbow. Now and then he 
was seen pulling about the bay alone, in his skiff, in dark 
weather, or at the approach of night-fall; nobody could tell 
why, unless on an errand to invite more guests from the gal- 
lows. Indeed it was affirmed that the Wild Goose still con- 
tinued to be a house of entertainment for such guests, and that 
on stormy nights, the blue chamber was occasionally illumi- 
nated, and sounds of diabolical merriment were overheard, 
mingling with the howling of the tempest. Some treated 
these as idle Btoiies, until on one such night, it was about the 
time of the equinox, there was a horrible uproar in the Wild 
Goose, that could not be mistaken. It was not so much the 
sound of revelry, however, as strife, with two or three piercing 
shrieks, that pervaded every part of the village. Nevertheless, 
no one thought of hastening to the spot. On the contrary, the 
honest burghers of Communipaw drew their night-caps over 
their ears, and buried their heads under the bed-clothos, at the 
thoughts of Vanderscamp and his gaUows companions. 

The next morning, some of the bolder and more curious 
undertook to reconnoitre. All was quiet and lifeless at the 
Wild Goose. The door yawned wide open, and had evidently 
been open all night, for the storm had beaten into the house. 
Gathering more courage from the silence and apparent deser- 
tion, they gradually ventured over the threshold. The house 
had indeed the air of having been possessed by devils. Every 
thing was topsy-turvy; trunks had been broken open, and 
chests of drawers and corner cupboards turned inside out, as 
in a time of general sack and piUage ; but the most wof ul sight 
was the v/idow of Yan Yost Vanderscamp, extended a corpse 
on the floor of the blue-chamber, with the marks of a deadly 
gripe on the wind-pipe. 

All now was conjecture and dismay at Communipaw ; and 
the disappearance of old Pluto, who was no where to be found, 
gave rise to all kinds of wild surmises. Some suggested that 
the negro had betrayed the house to some of Vanderscamp's 
bucnniering a3sociates, and that they had decamped together 
with the booty ; others surmised that the negro was nothing 
more nor less than a devil incarnate, who had now accom- 
plished his ends, and made off with his dues. 



THE BERMUDAS. 109 

Events, however, vindicated the negro from this last imputa- 
tion. His skiff was picked up, drifting about the bay, bottom 
upward, as it wrecked in a tempest-, and his body was found, 
shortly afterward, by some Communipaw fishermen, stranded 
among the rocks of Gibbet-Island, near the foot of the pirates' 
gallows. The fishermen shook their heads, and observed that 
old Pluto had ventured once too often to invite Guests from 
Gibbet-Island. 



THE BERMUDAS. 



A SHAKSPERIAN RESEARCH: BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH- 
BOOK. 

" Who did not think, till within these f oure yeares, but that these islands had been 
rather a habitation for Divells, than fit for men to dwell in? Who did not hate the 
name, when hee was on land, and shun the place when he was on the seas? But 
behold the misprision and conceits of the world ! For true and large experience 
hath now told us, it is one of the sweetest paradises that be upon earth. "—" A 
Plaine Descript. of the Barmudas:" 1613. 

In the course of a voyage home from England, our ship had 
been struggling, for two or three weeks, with perverse head- 
winds, and" a stormy sea. It was in the month of May, yet 
the weather had at times a wintry sharpness, and it was ap- 
prehended that we were in the neighborhood of floating islands 
of ice, which at that season of the year drift out of the Gulf of 
Saint Lawrence, and sometimes occasion the wreck of noble 
ships. 

Wearied out by the continued opposition of the elements, 
our captain at length bore away to the south, in hopes of 
catching the expiring breath of the trade-winds, and making 
what is called the southern passage. A few days wrought, as 
it were, a magical ' ' sea change" in every thing around us. We 
seemed to emerge into a different world. The late dark and 
angry sea, lashed up into roaring and swashing surges, became 
calm and sunny ; the rude winds died away; and gradually a 
light breeze sprang up directly aft, filling out every sail, and 
wafting us smoothly along on an even keel. The air softened 
into a bland and delightful temperature. Dolphins began to 
play about us; the nautilus came floating by, like a fairy ship, 
with its mimic sail and rainbow tints ; and flying-fish, from 



]10 WOLFElirS KOOlST AjSD Mlti(JELLAI\lES. 

time to time, made tlieir short excursive fligiits, and occasion- 
ally fell upon the deck. The cloaks and overcoats in whicii we 
had hitherto wrapped ourselves, and moped about the vessel, 
were thrown a-iide ; for a summer Avarmth had succeeded to 
the late wintry chills. Sails were stretched as awnings over 
the quarter-deck, to protect us from the mid-day sun. Under 
these we lounged away the day, in luxurious indolence, musing, 
with half-shut eyes, upon the quiet ocean. The night was 
scarcely less beautiful than the day. The rising moon sent a 
quivering column of silver along the undulating surface of the 
deep, and, gradually climbing the heaven, lit up our towermg 
top-sails and swelhng main-sails, and spread a pale, mysterious 
Ught around. As our ship made her whispering way through 
this dreamy world of waters, every boisterous sound on board 
was charmed to silence ; and the low vrhistlo, or drowsy song 
of a sailor from the forecastle, or the tinkling of a guitar, and 
the soft warbling of a female voice fi'om the quarter-deck, 
seemed to derive a witching melody from the sceno and hour. 
I was reminded of Oberon's exquisite description of music an - 
moonlight on the ocean : 

"Tlioii remeuiberest 

Since once I sat upon a proinoutory. ' 

And heard a mernnaid on a dolpliin's back. 

Uttering such dulcet and hannonious breath, 

That the rude sea grew civil at her song? 

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 

To hear the sea-maid's music." 

Indeed, I was in the very mood to conjure up all the ima- 
ginary beings with which poetry has peopled old ocean, and 
almost ready to fancy I heard the distant sonrj: ol' the mermaid, 
or the mellow shell of the triton, and to picture to myself Nep- 
tune and Amphitrite with all their pageant sweeping along the 
dun horizon. 

A day or two of such fancifid voyaging brought us in sight 
of the Bermudas, which first looked like mere summer clouds, 
peering above the quiet ocean. All day we glided along in 
Fight of them, with just wind enough to fill our sails; and 
never did land appear more lovely. They were clad in emerald 
verdure, beneath the serenest of skies: not an angry wave 
broke upon thoir quiet shores, and small fishing craft, riding 
on tlie crystal waves, seemed as if hung in air. It was such a 
scene that Fletcher pictured to himself, when lie extolled the 
hnl'^von lot of the fishorman: 



TUK BERMUDAS. HI 

Ah! would thou knewest liow much it better w-re 

To bide among the simple fisher-swains: 
No shrieking owl, no night-crow lodgeth here. 

Nor is our simple pleasure mixed with pains. 
Our sports begin with the beginning year; 
In calms, to pull the leaping tish to land. 
In roughs, to sing and dance along the j-ellow sand. 

In contemplating these beautiful islands, "and the peaceful 
sea ai'ouiid them, I could hardly realize that these were the 
"still vexed Bermoothes" of Shakspeare, once the dread of 
mariners, and infamous in the nan^atives of the early dis- 
coverers, for the dangers and disasters which beset them. 
Such, however, was the case; and the islands derived addi- 
tional interest in my eyes, from fancying that I could trace in 
their early history, and in the superstitious notions connected 
with them, some of the elements of Shakspeare's wild and 
beautiful drama of the Tempest. I shall take the liberty of 
citing a few historical facts, in support of this idea, which may 
claim some additional attention from the American reader, as 
being connected with the first settlement of Virginia. 

At the time when Shakspeare was in the fulness of his 
talent, and seizing upon every thing that could furnish aliment 
to his imagination, the colonization of Virginia was a favorite 
object of enterprise among people of condition in England, and 
several of the courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth were 
personally engaged in it. In the year 1609 a noble armament 
of nine ships and five hundred men sailed for the rehef of the 
colony. It was commanded by Sir George Somers, as admiral, 
a gallant and generous gentleman, above sixty years of age, 
and possessed of an ample fortune, yet still bent upon hardy 
enterprise, and ambitious of signalizing himself in the service 
of his country. 

On boaid of his flag-shii), the Sea- Vulture, sailed also Sir 
Thomas Grates, lieutenant-general of the colony. The voynge 
was long and boisterous. On the twenty -fifth of July, the 
admiral's ship was separated from the rest, in a hurricane. 
For several days she was driven about at the mercy of the ele- 
ments, and so strained and racked, that lier seams yawn<:c( 
open, and her hold was half filled Avith water. The storm 
subsided, but left her a mere foundering wreck. The crew 
stood in the hold to their waists in water, vainly endeavor- 
ing to bail her with kettles, buckets, and other vessels. The 
leaks rapidly gained on them, while their strength was as 
rapidly declining. They lost all hox)e of keepmg the ship 



112 WOL^-l£liT>^ liOOUT AJSD MISCELLAJS'IES. 

afloal3, mitil they should reach the American coast; and wearied 
with fruitless toil, determined, in their despair, to give up cill 
farther attempt, shut down the hatches, and abandon them- 
selves to Providence. Some, who had spirituous liquors, or 
"comfortable waters," as the old record quaintly terms them, 
brought them forth, and shared them with their comrades, 
and they all drank a sad farewell to one another, as men who 
were soon to part company in this world. 

In this moment of extremity, the worthy admiral, who kept 
sleepless watch from the high stern of the vessel, gave the 
thrilhng cry of "land!" All rushed on deck, in a frenzy of 
joy, and nothing now was to be seen or heard on board, but 
the transports of men who felt as if rescued from the grave. 
It is true the land in sight would not, in ordinary circum- 
stances, have inspired much self-gratulation. It could be 
nothing else but the group of islands called after their dis- 
coverer, one Juan Bermudas, a Spaniard, but stigmatized 
among the mariners of those days as "the islands of devils!" 
"For the islands of the Bermudas," says the old narrative -of 
this voyage, " as every man knoweth that hath heard or read 
of them, were never inhabited by any Christian or heathen 
people, but Avere ever esteemed and reputed a most prodigious 
and inchanted place, affording nothing but gusts, stormes, and 
foul weather, which made every navigator and mariner to 
avoide them, as ScyUa and Charybdis, or as they would shun 
the Divell himself."* 

Sir George Somers and his tempest-tossed comrades, how- 
ever, hailed them with rapture, as if they had been a terres- 
trial paradise. Every sail was spread, and every exertion 
made to urge the foundering ship to land. Before long, she 
struck upon a rock. Fortunately, the late 'tormy Avinds had 
subsided, and there was no surf. A swelhng wave lifted her 
from off the rock, and bore her to another ; and thus she was 
borne on from rock to rock, until she remained wedged be- 
tween two, as firmly as if set upon the stocks. The boats were 
immediately lowered, and, though the shore v/as above a mile 
distant, the whole crew were landed in safety. 

Every one had now his task assigned him. Some made all 
haste to unload the ship, before she should go to pieces ; some 
constructed wig^vams of palmetto leaves, and others ranged 
the island in quest of wood and water. To their surprise and 



* "A Plainc D>:^nTii;t^ou of tha B...iiuidas. 



THE BERMUDAS. Il3 

joy, they found it far different from the desolate and frightful 
place they had been taught, by seamen's stories, to expect. It 
v/as well- wooded and fertile ; there were birds of various kinds, 
and herds of swine roaming about, the progeny of a number 
that had swam ashore, in former years, from a Spanish wreck. 
The island aboimded with turtle, and great quantities of their 
eggs were to be found among the rocks. The bays and inlets 
were full of fish; so tame, that if any one stepped into the 
water, they would throng around him. Sir George Somers, in 
a little while, caught enough with hook and hne to furnish a 
meal to his whole ship's company. Some of them were so 
large, that two were as much as a man could carry. Craw- 
fish, also, were taken in abundance. The air was soft and 
salubrious, and the sky beautifully serene. Waller, in his 
" Summer Islands," has given us a faithful picture of the 
climate : 

" For the kind spring, (which but salutes us here,) 
Inhabits these, and courts them all the year: 
Ripe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live; 
At once they promise, and at once they givo: 
So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, 
None sickly lives, or dies before his time. 
Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncursed, 
To shew how all things were created first." 

We may inagine the feelings of the shipwrecked mariners, 
on finding themselves cast by stormy seas upon so happy a 
coast ; where abundance was to be had without labor ; where 
what in other climes constituted the costly luxuries of the rich, 
were within every man's reach ; and where hf e promised to be 
a mere holiday. Many of the conamon sailors, especially, de- 
clared they desired no better lot than to pass the rest of their 
lives on this favored island. 

The conunanders, however, were not so ready to console 
themselves with mere physical comforts, for the severance 
froxn the enjoyment of cultivated life, and all the objects of 
honorable ambition. Despairing of the arrival of any chance 
ship on these shunned and dreaded islands, they fitted out the 
long-boat, makmg a deck of the ship's hatches, and having 
manned her with eight picked men, despatched her, under the 
command of an able and hardy mariner, named Raven, to 
proceed to Virginia, and procure shipping to be sent to their 
relief. 

While waiting in anxious idleness for the arrival of the 



114 WOLFERTS llOOST AIs'D MISC'h'L LAMES. 

looked-for aid, dissensions arose between Sir George Somers 
and Sir Thomas Gates, originating, very probably, in jealousy 
of the lead which the nautical experience and professional 
station of the adnuial gave him in the present emergency. 
Each commander, of course, had his adherents : these dissen- 
sions ripened into a complete scliism ; and this handful oi ship- 
wrecked men, thus thrown together, on an uninhabited island, 
separated into two parties, and Uved asunder in Ijitler feud, as 
men rendered fickle by prosperity instead of being brought 
into brotherhood by a conunon calamity. 

Weeks and months elapsed, without bringing the looked-for 
aid from Virginia, though that colony was within but a few days' 
sail. Fears were now entertained that the long-boat had been 
either swallowed up in the sea, or wrecked on some savage 
coast ; one or other of which most probably was the case, as 
nothing was ever heard of Raven and his comrades. 

Each party now set to work to build a vessel for itself out of 
the cedar with which the island alx)unded. The wreck of the 
Sea- Vulture furnished rigging, and various other articles ; but- 
they had no iron for bolts, and other fastenings ; and for want 
of pitch and tar, they payed the seams of their vessels with 
lime and turtle's oil, which soon dried, and became as hard as 
stone. 

On the tenth of May, 1610, they set sail, ha\'ing been about 
nine months on the island. They reached Virginia without 
faj-ther accident, but found the colony in great distress for pro- 
%dsions. The account they gave of the abundance that reigned 
in the Bermudas, and especially of the herds of swine that 
roamed the island, determined Lord Delaware, the governor 
of Virginia., to send thither for supplies. Sir George Somers, 
with his wonted promptness and generosity, offered to under- 
take what was still considered a dangerous voyage. Accord-, 
ingly, on the nineteenth of June, he set sad, in his own cedar 
vessel of thirty tons, accompanied by another small vessel, 
commanded by Captain Argall. 

The gallant Somers was doomed again to be tempest-tossed. 
His companion vessel was soon driven back to port, but he 
kept the sea ; and, as usual, remained at his post on deck, in 
aU weathers. Ilis voyage was long and boisterous, and the 
fatigues and exposures which he undei^went, were too much 
for a frame impaired by age, and by previous hardships. He 
arrived at Bermudas completely exhausted and broken down. 

His nephew. Captain Mathew Somers, attendt^d liim in his 






THE BERMUDAS. 115 

illness with affectionate assiduity. Finding his end approach- 
ing, the veteran called his men together, and exhorted them to 
be true to the interests of Virginia ; to procure provisions with 
all possible despatch, and hasten back to the rehef of the 
colony. 

With this dying charge, he gave up the ghost, leaving nis 
nephew and crew overwhelmed with grief and consternation. 
Their first thought was to pay honor to his remains. Opening 
the body, they took out the heart and entrails, and buried them, 
erecting a cross over the grave. They then embalmed the 
body, and set sail with it for England; thus, while paying 
empty honors to their deceased conunander, neglecting his ear- 
nest wish and dying injunction, that they should return with 
relief to Virginia. 

The httlebark arrived safely at Whitechurch, in Dorsetshire, 
with its melancholy freight. The body of the worthy Somers 
was interred with the mihtary honors due to a brave soldier, 
and many volleys were fired over his grave. The Bermudas 
have since received the name of the Somer Islands, as a tribute 
to his memory. 

The accounts given by Captain Mathew Somers and his crew 
of the delightful climate, and the great beauty, fertility, and 
abundance of these islands, excited the zeal of enthusiasts, and 
the cupidity of speculators, and a plan was set on foot to colo- 
nize them. The Vii^ginia company sold their right to the 
islands to one hundred and twenty of their own members, who 
erected themselves into a distinct corporation, under the name 
of the "Somer Island Society;" and Mr. Eichard More was sent 
out, m 1612, as governor, with sixty men, to found a colony: 
and this leads me to the second branch of this research. 



THE THREE KINGS OF BERMUDA. 

AND THEIR TREASURE OF AMBERGRIS. 

At the time that Sir George Somers was preparing to launch 
his cedar-built bark, and sail for Virginia, there were three cul- 
prits among his men, who had been guilty of capital offences. 
One of them was shot ; the others, named Christopher Carter 
and Edward Waters, escaped. Waters, indeed, made a very 
narrow escape, for he had actually been tied to a tree to be 
executed, but cut the roiie with a knife, which he had con- 



lie WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISGELLAJSIES. 

cealed about his person, and fled to the woods, where he was 
joined by Carter. These two worthies kept themselves con- 
cealed in the secret parts of the island, until the departure of 
the two vessels. When Sir George Somers revisited the 
island, in quest of supplies for the Virginia colony, these cul- 
prits hovered about the landing-place, and succeeded in per- 
suading another seaman, named Edward Chard, to join them, 
giving liim the most seductive pictures of the ease and abun- 
dance in which they revelled. 

When the bark that bore Sir George's body to England had 
fad 3d from the watery horizon, these three vagabonds walked 
forth in their majesty and might, the lords and sole inhabi- 
tants of these islands. For a time their little commonwealth 
went on prosperously and happily. They built a house, sowed 
com, and the seeds of various fruits; and having plenty of 
hogs, wild 5owl, and fish of all kinds, with turtle in abundance, 
carried on their tripartite sovereignty with gi-eat harmony and 
much feasting. All kingdoms, however, are doomed to revo- 
lution, convulsion, or decay ; and so it fared with the empire 
of the three kings of Berm-^la, albeit they were monarchs 
without subjects. In an evil hour, in their search after turtle, 
among the fissures of the rocks, they came upon a great treas- 
ure of ambergris, which had been cast on shore by the ocean. 
Beside a number of pieces of smaller dimensions, there was one 
great mass, the largest that had ever been known, weighing 
eighty pounds, and which of itself, according to the market 
value of ambergris in those days, was worth about nine»or ten 
thousarid pounds ! 

Fron? ^-lat moment, the happiness and harmony of the three 
kings (f Bermuda were gone forever. While poor devils, with 
nothir'; to share but the common blessings of the island, 
whic?i idministered to present enjoyment, but had notliing of 
conv?\'tible value, they were loving and united: but here was 
actVr'l wealth, which would make them rich men, whenever 
they could transport it to a market. 

Adieu the delights of the island ! They now became flat and 
insipid. Each pictured to himself the consequence he might 
now aspire to, in civilized life, could he once get there mth 
this mass of ambergris. No longer a poor Jack Tar, frolicking 
in the low taverns of Wapping, he might roll through London 
in his coach, and perchance arrive, Uke Whittington, at the 
dignity of Lord Mayor. 

With riches came envy and covetousness. Each was now 






THE BERMUDAS. jl7 

for assuming the supreme power, and getting the monopoly of 
the ambergris. A civil war at length broke out : Chard and 
Waters defied each other to mortal combat, and the kingdom 
of the Bermudas was on the point of being deluged with royal 
blood. Fortunately, Carter took no part in the bloody feud. 
Ambition might have made Imn view it with secret exultation ; 
for if either or both of his brother potentates were slain in the 
conflict, he would be a gainer in purse and ambergris. But he 
dreaded to be'ifef t alone in this uninhabited island, and to find 
himself the monarch of a solitude: so he secretly purloined 
and hid the weapons of the belligerent rivals, who, having 
no means of carrying on the war, gradually cooled down into 
a sullen armistice. 

The arrival of Governor More, with an overpowering force 
of sixty men, put an end to the empire. He took possession of 
the kingdom, in the name of the Somer Island Company, and 
forthwith proceeded to make a settlement. The three kings 
tacitly relinquished their sway, but stood up stoutly for 
their treasm-e. It was determined, however, that they had 
been fitted out at the expense, a?nd employed in the service, of 
the Virginia Company ; that they had found the ambergis 
while in the service of that company, and on that company's 
land ; that the ambergis, therefore, belonged to that company, 
or rather to the Somer Island Cor.ipany, in consequence of 
their recent purchase oi the island, and all their appurte- 
nances. Having thus legally established their right, and being 
moreover able to back it by might, the company laid the lion's 
paw upon the spoil; and nothing more remains on historic 
record of the Three Eangs of Bermuda, and theii' treasm'e of 
ambergris. 



The reader will now determine whether I am more extrava- 
gant than most of the commentators on Shakspeare, in my 
surmise that the story of Sir George Somers' shipwreck, and 
the subsequent occurrences that took place on the uninhabited 
island, may have furnished the bard with some of the elements 
of his drama of the Tempest. The tidings of the shipwreck, 
and of the incidents connected with it, reached England not 
long before the production of this drama, and made a great 
sensation there. A narrative of the whole matter, from which 
most of the foregoing particulars are extracted, was published 
at the time in London, in a pamphlet form, and could not fail 
to be eagerly pei-used by Shakspeare, and to make a vivid 



118 WOLFKRTS ROObT AJSU Ml^CJi^LLANmS. 

impression on his fancy. His expression, in the Tempest, of 
"the still vext Bermoothes," accords exactly with the storm- 
beaten character of those islands. The enchantments, too, 
with which he has clothed the island of Prospero, may they 
not be traced to the wild and superstitious notions entertained 
about the Bermudas? I have already cited two passages from 
a pamphlet pubhshed at the time, showing that they were 
esteemed "a most prodigious and inchanted place," and the 
' ' habitation of divells ;" and another pamphlet, puUished shortly 
afterward, observes : ' ' And whereas it is reported that this land 
of the Barmudas, with the islands about, (which are many, at 
least a hundred,) are inchanted and kept with evil gnd wicked 
spirits, it is a most idle and false report." * 

The description, too, given in the same pamphlets, of the 
real beauty and fertihty of the Bermudas, and of their serene 
and happy climate, so opposite to the dangerous and inhospi- 
table character with which they had been stigmatized, accords 
with the eulogium of Sebastian on the island of Prospero : 

•'Thou^li this island seem to be desert, iiniiihabirable, ard almost inaccessible, it 
must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. The air breathes upon us 
hei-e most sweetly. Here is every thing advantageous to life. How lush and lusty 
the grass looks: how green:"' 

I think too, in the exulting consciousness of ease, security, 
and abundance felt by the late tempest-tosised mariners, while 
revelling in the plenteousness of the island, and their inclina- 
tion to remain there, released from the labors, the cares, and 
the artificial restraints of civilized hfe, I can see something of 
the golden coimnon wealth of honest Gonzalo : 

" Had I plantation of this isle, my loi'd, 
And were the king of it, what would I do? 
r the commonwealth I would by contraries 
Execute all things: for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit : no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, 
And use of service, none; contract, succession. 
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: 
No ococpatiou ; all men idle, all. 

All things in common, nature should produce, 
Without sweat or endeavor: Treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
WouM I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind, all foizon. all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people "' 

•^ . ^ 

* *• Ncwes from the Barmudas:' 1612. 



AYO AND THIS MERCHANTS DAUGHTER. HO 

But above all, in the three fugitive vagabonds who remained 
in possession of the island of Bermuda, on the departure of 
their comrades, and in their squabbles about supremacy, on the 
finding of their treasure, I see typified Sebastian, Trinculo, and 
their worthy companion Caliban; 

"Trinculo, the king and all our company being drowned, we will inherit here." 
" Monster, I will kill this man ; his daughter and I will be king and queen, (save our 
graces!) and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys." 

I do not mean to hold up the incidents and characters in the 
narrative and in the play as parallel, or as being strikingly 
similar: neither would I insinuate that the narrative suggested 
the play ; I would only suppose that Shakspeare, being occupied 
about that time on the drama of the Tempest, the main story 
(,• which, I believe, is of Italian origin, had many of the fanci- 
ful ideas of it suggested to his mind by the shipwi^eck of 
Sir George Somers on the '* still vext Bermothes," and by the 
popular superstitions connected with these islands, and sud- 
denly put im circulation by that event. 



PELAYO AND THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 

It is the common lamentation of Spanish historiographers, 
that, for an obscure and melancholy space of time immediately 
succeeding the conquest of their country by the Moslems, its 
history is a mere wilderness of dubious facts, groundless 
fables, and rash exaggerations. Learned men, in cells and 
cloisters, have worn out their lives in vainly endeavoring to 
connect inconginious events, and to account for startling 
improbabilities, recorded of this period. The worthy Jesuit, 
Padre Abarca, declares that, for more than forty years during 
which he had been employed in theological controversies, ho 
had never found any so obscure and inexplicable as those 
which rise out of this portion of Spanish history, and that the 
only fiiiit of an indefatigable, prolix, and even prodigious 
study of the subject, was a melancholy and mortifying state 
of indecision.* 

*pAi?RK Pedro Abarca. Anales de Arag-on. Anti Regno, §2. 



120 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

During this apocryphal period, flourished Pelayo, the dehv- 
erer of Spain, whose name, hke that of William Wallace, will 
ever be linked with the glory of his country, but linked, in like 
manner, by a bond in which fact and fiction are inextricably 
interwoven. 

The quaint old chronicle of the Moor Rasis, which, though 
wild and fanciful in the extreme, is frequently drawn upon for 
early facts by Spanish historians, professes to give the birth, 
parentage, and whole course of fortune of Pelayo, without the 
least doubt or hesitation. It makes him a son of the Duke of 
Cantabria, and descended, both by father and mother's side, 
from the Gotliic kings of Spain. I shall pass over the roman- 
tic story of his childhood, and shall content myself with a 
scene of his youth, which v,^as spent in a castle among the 
Pyrenees, under the eye / his widowed and noble-minded 
mother, who caused him to be instructed in everything 
befitting a cavalier of gentle birth. While the sons of the 
nobility were revelhng amid the pleasures of a licentious 
court, and sunk in that vicious and effeminate indulgence 
which led to the perdition of unhappy Spain, the youthful 
Pelayo, in his rugged mountain school, was steeled to all kinds 
of hardy exercise. A great part of his time was spent in hunt- 
ing the bears, the Avild boars, and the wolves, with which the 
Pyrenees abounded; and so purely and chastely was he 
brought up, by his good lady mother, that, if the ancient 
chronicle from which I draw my facts may be rehed on, he 
ha-d attained his one-and-twentieth year, without having once 
sighed for woman ! 

Nor were his hardy contests confined to the wild beasts of 
the forest. Occasionally he had to contend with adversaries of 
a moi'e formidable character. The skirts and defiles of these 
border mountains were often infested by marauders from the 
Gallic plains of Gascony. The Gascons, says an old chronicler, 
Vv^ere a people who used smooth words when expedient, but 
force when they had power, and were ready to lay their hands 
on every thing they met. Though poor, they were proud ; for 
there was not one who did not pride himself on being a hijo- 
dalgo, or the son of somebody. 

At the head of a band of these needy hijodalgos of Gascony, 
was one Arnaud, a broken-down cavalier. He and four of his 
foUow^ers were well armed and mounted ; the rest were a set of 
scamper-grounds on foot, furnished with darts and javehns. 
They Avcre the terror of the border ; here to-day and gone to- 



PEL A TO AM) THE MERCUA^'TIS VAVGETEll ]91 

morrow ; sometimes in one pass, sometimes in another. They 
would make sudden inroads into Spain, scour the roads, pkm- 
der the country, and were over the mountains and far away 
before a force could be collected to pursue them. 

Now it happened one day, that a wealthy burgher of Bor- 
deaux, who was a merchant, trading with Biscaj", set out on a 
journey for that province. As he intended to sojourn there 
for a season, he took with him his wife, who was a goodly 
darme, and his daughter, a gentle damsel, of marriageable age, 
an^i exceeding fair to look upon. He was attended by a trusty 
cle^'k from his comptoir, and a man servant; while another 
servant led a hackney, laden with bags of money, with which 
he intencied to purchase merchandise. 

When the Gascons heard of this wealthy morchan!: and his 
convoy passing through the mountains, they thanked their 
stars, for they considered all peaceful men of traffic as lawful 
spoil, sent by providence 'mr the benefit of hidalgos like them- 
selves, of valor and gentle blood, who lived by the sword. 
Placing themselves in ambush, in a lonely defile, by Avhich the 
travellers had to pass, they silently awaited their comuig. In 
a little VyThile they beheld them approaching. The merchant 
was a fair, portly man, in a buff surcoat and velvet cap. His 
looks bespoke the good cheer of his native city, and he was 
mounted on a stately, well-fed steed, while his wife and daugh- 
ter paced gently on palfreys by his side. 

The travellers had advanced some distance in the defile, 
when the Bandoleros rushed forth and assailed them. The 
merchant, though but little used to the exercise of arms, and 
unwieldy in kis form, yet made valiant defence, having his 
wife and daughter and money-bags at hazard. He was wounded 
in two places, and overpowered ; one of his servants was slain, 
the other took to flight. 

The freebooters then began to ransack for spoil, but were dis- 
api)ointed at not finding the wealth they had expected. Put- 
ting their swords to the t)reast of the trembhng merchant, they 
demanded where he had concealed his treasure, and learned 
from liim of the hackney that was following, laden with monej^. 
Overjoyed at this intelligence, they bound their captives to 
trees, and awaited the arrival of the golden spoil. 

On this same day, Pelayo was out with liis huntsmen among 
the mountains, and had taken his stand on a rock, at a narrow 
pass, to await the sallying forth of a wild boar. Close by him 
was a page, conducting a horse, and at the saddle-bow hung 



122 WOLFERTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

his armor, for he was always prepared for fight among these 
border mountains. While thus posted, the servant of the mer- 
chant came flying from the robbers. On beholding Pelayo, he 
fell on his knees, and implored his life, for he supposed him to 
be one of the band. It was some time before he could be re- 
lieved from his terror, and made to tell his story. When 
Pelayo heard of the robbers, he concluded they were the crew 
of Gascon hidalgos, upon the scamper. Taking his armor from 
the page, he put on his helmet, slung his buckler round his 
neck, took lance in hand, and mounting his steed, compelled 
the trembling servant to guide him to the scene of action. At 
the same time he ordered the page to seek his huntsmen, and 
summon them to his assistance. 

When the robbers saw Pelayo advancing through the forest, 
with a single attendant on foot, and beheld his rich armor 
sparkling in the sun, they thought a new prize had fallen into 
their hands, and Arnaud and two of his companions, mounting 
their horses, ad«ranced to meet him. As they approached, 
Pelayo stationed himself in a narrow pass between two rocks, 
where he could only be assailed in front, and bracing his buck- 
ler, and lowering his lance, awaited their coming. 

' ' Who and what are ye," cried he, ' ' and what seek ye in this 
land?" 

"We are huntsmen," replied Amaud, ''and lo! our game 
runs into our toils !" 

"By my faith," rephed Pelayo, "thou wilt find the game 
more readily roused than taken : have at thee for a villain !" 

So saying, he put spurs to his horse, and ran full speed upon 
him. The Gascon, not expecting so sudden an attack from a 
single horseman, was taken by surprise. He hastily couched 
his lance, but it merely glanced on the shield of Pelayo, who 
sent his own through the middle of his breast, and threw him 
out of his saddle to the earth. One of the oth«r robbers made 
at Pelayo, and wounded him shghtly in the side, but received 
a blow from the sword of the latter, which cleft his skul-cap, 
and sank into his brain. His companion, seeing hun fall, put 
spurs to his steed, and galloped off through the forest. 

Beholding several other robbers on foot coming up, Pelayo 
returned to his station between the rocks, where he was as- 
sailed by them all at once. He received two of their darts on 
his buckler, a javelin razed his cuirass, and glancing down, 
wounded his horse. Pelayo then rushed forth, and struck one 
of the robbers dead: the others, beholding several himtsmen 



PELAYO AND THE MERCHANTS DAUGHTER. 123 

advancing, took to flight, but were pursued, and several of them 
taken. 

The good merchant of Bordeaux and his family beheld this 
scene with trembling and amazement, for never had they looked 
upon such feats of arms. They considered Don Pelayo as a 
leader of some rival band of robbers ; and when the bonds were 
loosed by which they were tied to the trees, they fell at his feet 
and implored mercy. The females were soonest undeceived, 
especially the daughter; for the damsel was struck with the 
noble countenance and gentle demeanor of Pelayo, and said to 
herself : ' ' Surely nothmg evil can dwell in so goodly and gra- 
cious a form." 

Pelayo now somided his horn, wliich echoed from rock to 
rock, and was answered by shouts and horns from various 
parts of the mountains. The merchant's heart misg-ave him at 
these signals, and especially when he beheld more than forty 
men gathering from glen and thicket. They were clad in hunt- 
ers' dresses, and armed with boar-spears, darts, and hunting- 
swords, and many of them led hounds in long leashes. All 
this was a new and wild scene to the astonished merchant ; nor 
were his fears abated, when he saw his .servant approaching 
with the hackney, laden with money-bags; "for of a cer- 
tainty," said he to himself, "this will be too tempting a spoil 
for these wild hunters of the moimtains." 

Pelayo, however, took no more notice of the gold than if it 
had been so much dross ; at which the honest burgher mar- 
velled exceedingly. He ordered that the wounds of the mer- 
chant should be dressed, and his own examined. On taking 
off his cuirass, his wound was found to be but shght ; but his 
men were so exasperated at seeing his blood, that they would 
have put the captive robbers to instant death, had he not for- 
bidden them to do them any harm. 

The huntsmen now made a great fire at the foot of a tree, 
and bringing a boar which they had Idlled, cut off portions 
and roasted them, or broiled them on the coals. Then draw- 
ing forth loaves of bread from their wallets, they devoured 
their food half raw, with the hungry rehsh of himtsmen and 
mountaineers. The merchant, his wife, and daughter, looked 
at all this, and wondered, for they had never beheld so savage 
a repast. 

Pelayo then inquired of them if they did not desire to eat ; 
they were too much in awe of him to decline, though they felt 
a loathing at the thought of partaking of this hunter's fare ; 



124 WOLFERT'S ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

but he ordered a linen cloth to be spread under the shade of a 
great oak, on the grassy margin of a clear ninning stream ; 
and to their astonishment, they were served, not with the flesh 
of the boar, but with dainty cheer, such as the merchant had 
scarcely hoped to find out of the walls of his native city of 
Bordeaux, 

The good burgher was of a community, renowned for gas- 
tronomic prowess: his fears having subsided, his a j petite 
was now awakened, and he addressed lumself manfully to 
the viands that were set before hmi. His daughter, how- 
over, could not eat : her eyes were ever and anon stealing to 
gazf^ on Pelayo, whom she regarded with gratitude for his pro- 
tection, and admiration for his valor; and now that he had 
laid aside his nelmet, and she beheld his lofty countenance, 
glowmg with manly beauty, she thought him something more 
than mortal. The heart ef the gentle doiizella, says the aacient 
chroni«ler, was kind and yielding ; and had Pelayo thought fit 
to ask the greatest boon that love and b«auty «®uld bestow — 
doubtless meaning her fair hand — she could not have had the 
cruelty to say hiim nay. Pelayo, however, had no such 
thoughts : the love of woman had mover yet entered his heart ; 
and though he regarded the damsel as the fairest maiden he 
had ever beheld, her beauty caused no perturbation in his 
bi'east. 

When the repast was over, Pelayo offered to conduct the 
merchant and his family through the defiles of the mountains, 
lest they should be molested by any of the scattered band of 
robbers. The bodies of the slain marauders were buried, and 
the coi'pse of the servant was laid upon one of the horses cap- 
tured in the battle. Having formed their cavalcade, they pur- 
sued their way slowly up one of the steep and winding passes 
of the Pyrenees. 

Toward sunset, they arrived at the dwelhng of a holy hermit. 
It was hewn out of the living rock ; there was a cross over the 
door, and before it was a great spreading oak, with a sweet 
spring of water at its foot. The body of the faithful servant 
who had fallen in the defence of his lord, was buried close by 
the wall of this sacred retreat, and the hermit promised to per- 
form masses for the repose of his soul. Then Pelayo obtained 
from the holy father consent that the merchant's wife and 
daughter should pass the night Avithin his cell ; and the hermit 
made beds of moss for them, and gave them his benediction ; 
but the damsel found little rest, so much were her thoughts 



PELAYO AND THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. 125 

occupied by the youthful champion who had rescued her from 
death or dishonor. 

Pelayo, however, was visited by no such wandering of the 
mmd ; but, wrapping himself in his, mantle, slept soundly by 
the fountain under the tree. At midnight, when ev«ry thing 
was buried in deep repose, he was awakened from his sleep 
and beheld the hermit before him, with the beams of the moon 
shining upon his silver hair and beard. 

''This is no time," said the latter, "to be sleeping; arise and 
list«n to my words, and hear of the great work for which thou 
art chosen !" 

Then Pelayo arose and seated himself on a rock, and the 
hermit continued his discourse. 

" Behold," said he, " the ruin of Spain is at hand ! It wiU be 
deUvered into the hands of strangers, and will become a prey 
to the spoiler. Its children will be slain or carried into capti- 
vity ; or such as may escape these evils, will harbor with ihe 
beaslfe of the forest or the eagles of the mountain. The thorn 
aiiid feramble will spring up where now are seen the corn- 
field, the vine, and the olive ; and himgry wolves will roam in 
place of peaceful flocks and herds. But thou, my son ! tarry 
not thou to see these things, for thou canst not prevent them. 
Depart on a pilgrimage to the sepulchre of our blessed Lord in 
Palestine ; purify thyself by prayer ; enroll thyself in the order 
of chivalry, and prepare for the great work of the redemption 
of thy country ; for to thee it wiU be given to raise it from the 
depth of its affliction. " 

Pelayo would have inquu-ed farther into the evils thus fore- 
told, but the hermit rebuked his curiosi«ty. 

" Seek not to know more," said he, "than heaven is pleased 
to reveal. Clouds and darkness cover its designs, and pro- 
phecy is never permitted to lift up but in part the veil that 
rests upon the Suture." 

The hermit ceased to speak, and Pelayo laid himself down 
again to take repose, but sleep was a strangcv to his eyes. 

When the first rays of the rising sun shone upon the tops of 
the mountains, the travellers assembled round the fountain 
beneath the tree and made their morning's repast. Then, 
having received the benediction of the hermit, they departed 
in the freshness of the day, and descended along the hollow 
defiles leading into the interior of Spain. The good merchant 
was refreshed by sleep and by his morning's meal ; and when 
he beheld his wife and daughter thus secure by his side, and 



126 WOLFERT'S ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

the hackney laden with his treasure close behind him, his 
heart was light in his bosom, and he carolled a chanson as he 
went, and the woodlands echoed to his song. But Pelayo rode 
in silence, for he revolved in his mind the portentous words of 
the hermit ; and the daughter of the merchant ever and anon 
stole looks at him full of tenderness and admiration, and deep 
sighs betrayed the agitation of her bosom. 

At length they came to the foot of the moimtains, where the 
forests and the rocks terminated, and an open and secure 
country lay before the travellers. Here they halted, for their 
roads were widely different. When they came to part, the 
merchant and his wife were loud in thanks and benedictions, 
and the good burgher*would fain have given Pelayo the largest 
of his sacks of gold ; but the young man put it aside with a 
ainile. " Silver and gold," said he, " need I not, but if I have 
deserved aught at thy hands, give me thy prayers, for the 
p«.'ayers of a good man are above all price." 

In the mean time the daughter had spoken never a word. 
M length she raised her eyes, which were filled with tears, and 
locked timidly at Pelayo, and her bosom throbbed: and after a 
violent struggle between strong aifection and virgin modesty, 
her heart relieved itself by words. * 

"*Sen«»r," said she, "I know that I am unworthy of the 
notice of so noble a cavalier ; but suffer me to place this ring 
upon a finger of that hand which has so bravely rescued us 
from death; and when you regard it, you may consider it 
as a memorial of your own valor, and not of one who is too 
humble to be remembered by you. " 

With these words, she drew a ring from her finger and put 
it upon the finger of Pelayo ; and having done this, she blushed 
and trembled at her own boldness, and stood as one abiished, 
with her eyes cast down upon the earth. 

Pelayo was moved at the words of the simple maiden, and at 
the touch of her fair hand, and at her beauty, as she stood thus 
trembling and in tears before him; but as yet he knew nothing 
of woman, and his heart was free from the snares of love. 
"Amiga," (friend,) said he, "I accept thy present, and will 
wear it in remembrance of thy goodness ;" so saying, he kissed 
her on the cheek. 

The damsel was cheered by these words, and hoped that she 
had awakened some tenderness in his bosom; but it was no 
such thing, says the grave old chronicler, for his heart was 






tup: KNIGUT OF MALTA. 127 

devoted to higher and more sacred matters; yet certain it i ;, 
that he always guarded well that ring. 

When they parted, Pelayo remained with his hmitsmen on v. 
cliff, watching that no evil befell them, until they were ic.ii 
beyond the skirts of the mountain; and the damsel often 
turned to look at him, until she could no longer discern him, 
for the distance and the tears that dimmed her eyes. 

And for that he had accepted her ring, says the ancient 
chronicler, she considered herself wedded to him in her heart, 
and would never marry ; nor could she be brought to look with 
eyes of affection upon any other man; but for the true love 
wliich she bore Pelayo, she hved and died a virgin. And she 
composed a book which treated of love and chivalry, and the 
temptations of this mortal life; and one part discoursed of 
celestial matters, and it was called "The Contemplations of 
Love;" because at the time she wrote it, she thought of Pelayo, 
and of his having accepted her jewel and called her by the 
gentle appellation of "Amiga." And often thinking of him in 
tender sadness, and of her never having beheld hun more, she 
would take the book and would read it as if in his stead ; and 
while she repeated the words of love which it contained, she 
would endeavor to fancy them uttered by Pelayo, and that he 
stood before her. 



THE KNIGHT OF liklALTA. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER 

Sir: In the course of a tour which I made in Sicily, in the 
days of my juvenility, I passed some little time at the ancient 
city of Catania, at the foot of Mount ^tna. Here I became 

acquainted with the Chevalier L , an old Knight of l>Iciltn. 

It was not many years after the time that Napoleon had dis- 
lodp^ed the knights from their island, and he still wore the 
insignia of his order. He was not, however, one of those 
reiiques of that once chivalrous body, who had been described 
as "a few worn-out old men, creeping about certain parts of 
Europe, with the Maltese cross on their bi:oasts ;" on the contrary, 
though advanced in life, his form ^vas still light and vigorous : 
iio had a pale, thin, intellectual visage, with a high forehead, 
and a bright, visionary eye. He seemed to take a fancy to me. 



128 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

as I certainly did to him, and we soon became intimate. I 
visited him occasionally, at his apartments, in the wing of an 
old palace, looking toward Mount ^tna. He was an antiquary, 
a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. His rooms were decorated \vith 
mutilated statues, dug up from Grecian and Eoman ruins ; old 
vases, lachrymals, and sepulchral lamps. He had astronomical 
and chemical instruments, and black-letter books, in various 
languages. I found that he had dipped a little in chimerical 
studies, and had a hankering after astrology and alchymy. 
He affected to beheve in dreams and visions, and delighted in 
the fanciful Rosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade myself, 
however, that he really believed in all these : I rather think he 
loved to let his imagination carry him away into the boundless 
fairy land which they unfolded. 

In company with the chevaher, I took several excursions on 
horseback about the environs of Catania, and the picturesque 
skirts of Mount ^tna. One of these led through a village, 
which had sprung up on the very tract of an ancient eruption, 
the houses being built of lava. At one time we passed, for 
some distance, along a narrow lane, between two high dead 
convent walls. It was a cut-throat-looking place, in a country 
where assassinations are frequent; and just about midway 
through it, we observed blood upon the pavement and the 
walls, as if a murder had actually been committed there. 

The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he had extricated 
himself completely from this suspicious neighborhood. He 
then observed, that it reminded him of a similar blind alley in 
Malta, infamous on account of the many assassinations that 
had taken place there; concerning one of which, he related a 
long and tragical story, that lasted until we reached Catania. 
It involved various circumstances of a wild and supernatural 
character, but which he assured me were handed down in 
tradition, and generally credited by the old inhabitants of 
Malta. 

As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I was particularly 
struck with several parts of this, I made a minute of it, on my 
return to my lodgings. The memorandum was lost, with 
several others of my traveUing papers, and the story had faded 
from my mind, when recently, in perusing a French memoir, 
I came sudderJy upon it, di-essed up, it is true, in a very 
different manner, but agreeing in the leading facts, and given 
upon the word of that famous adventurer, the Count Cagliostro. 

I liave amused myself, during a snowy day in the country, 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. ^ 129 

by rendering it rouglily into English, for the entertainment of 
a youthful circle romid the Chi'istmas fire. It was well received 
by my auditoi^, who, however, are rather easily pleased. One 
proof of its merits is that it sent some of the youngest of them 
quaking to their beds, and gave them very fearful dreams. 
Hoping that it may have the same effect upon your ghost- 
hunting readers, I offer it, Mr. Editor, for insertion in your 
Magazine. I would observe, that wherever I have modified 
the French version of the story, it has been in conformity to 
some recollection of the narrative of my friend, the Knight of 
Malta. 

Yoiu' obt. servt., 

GrEOPFREY CRAYON. 



TEE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA, 

A VERITABLE GHOST STORY. 

*'E1eep my wits, heaven! They say spirits appear • 
To melancholy minds, and the graves open !"— Fletcher. 

About the middle of the last century, while the Knights of 
Saint John of Jerusalem still maintained something of then* 
ancient state and sway in the Island of Malta, a tragical event 
took place there, which is the grouD.dwork of the following 
narrative. 

It may be as weU to premise, that at the time we are treating 
of, the order of Saint John of Jerusalem, grown excessively 
wealthy, had degenerated from its originally devout and war- 
like character. Instead of being a hardy body of "monk- 
knights," sworn soldiers of the cross, fighting the Paynim in 
the Holy Land, or scouring the Mediterranean, and scourging 
the Barbary coasts with their galleys, or feeding the poor, and 
attending upon the sick at their hospitals, they led a life of 
luxury and Hbertinism, and were to be found in the most 
voluptuous courts of Europe. Thf3 order, in fact, had become 
a mode of providing for the needy branches of the Catholic 
aristocracy of Europe. "A commandery," we are told, was a 
splendid provision for a younger brother; and men of rank, 
however dissolute, provided they belonged to the highest aristo- 
cracy, became Knights of Malta, just as they did bishops, or 
(^olonels of regiments, or court chamberlains. After a brief 
residence at Malta, tJie Icnights passed iho rest of their time in 



130 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

their own countries, or only made a visit now and then to the 
island. While there, having but little military duty to per- 
form, they beguiled their idleness by paying attentions to the 
fair. 

There was one circle of society, however, into which they 
could not obtain currency. This was composed of a few fami- 
lies of the old Maltese nobility, natives of the island. These 
families, not being permitted to enroll va\y of their membei*s in 
the order, affected to hold no intercourse with its chevaliers ; 
admitting none into their exclusive coteries but the Grand 
Master, whom they acknowledged as their sovereign, and the 
members of the chapter Avhich composed his council. 

To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the chevaliers 
caiTJed their gallantries into the next class of society, composed 
of those who held civil, administrative, and judicial situations. 
The ladies of this class were called honorate, or honorables, to 
distinguish them from the inferior orders; and among them 
were many of superior grace, beauty, and fascination. 

Even in this moro hospitable class, the chevaliers were not 
all equally 'favored. Those of Germany had the decided j»re- 
ferenco, owing to their fair and fresh complexions, and the 
kindhness of their manners: next to these came the Spanish 
cavaliers, on account of their profound and courteous devotion, 
and most discreet secrecy. Singular as it may seem, the che- 
valiei-s of France fared the worst. The Maltese ladies dreaded 
their volatility, and their proneness to boast of their amoui-s, 
and shimned all entanglement with them. They were forced, 
therefore, to content themselves ^vith conquests among females 
of the lower orders. They revenged themselves, after the gay 
French manner, by making the " honorate" the objects of all 
kinds of jests and mystifications ; by prying mto then- tender 
affairs with the more favered chevahers, and making them the 
theme of song and epigram. 

About this time, a French vessel arrived at Malta, bringing 
out a distinguished pereona^e of the order of Saint John of 
JeniBalem, the Commander de Foulquerre, who came to solicit 
the post of connnander-in-chief of the galleys. Ho was descended 
from an old and warrior line of French nobihty, his ancestors 
having long been seneschals of Faitou, and claiming descent 
from the first counts of Angouleme. 

The arnval of the commander caused a little imeasiness 
among the peaceably inclined, for he bore the character, in the 
island, of being fiery, aiTogant, -and quaiTelsome. TTf> li^id 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 13X 

already been three times at Malta, and on each visit had signal- 
ized himself by some rash and deadly affray. 
As he was now thirty-five years of age, however, it was hoped 
that time might have taken off the fiery edge of his spirit, and 
that he might prove more quiet and sedate than formerly. 
The commander set up an establishment befitting his rank and 
pretensions ; for he arrogated to himself an importance greater 
even thain that of the Grand Master. His house immediately 
became the rallying place of all the young French chevaliers. 
They informed him of all the slights they had experienced or 
imagined, and indulged their petulant and satirical vein at the 
expense of the honorate and their admirers. The chevaliers of 
other nations soon found the topics and tone of conversation at 
the commander's irksome and offensive, and gradually ceased 
to visit there. The commander remained the head of a national 
clique, who looked up to him as their model. If he was not as 
boisterous and quarrelsome as formerly, he had become haughty 
and overbearing. He was fond of talking over his past affairs 
of punctilio and bloody duel. When walking the streets, he 
was genei^ily attended by a ruffling train of young French 
cavaliers, who caught his own air of assumption and bravado. 
These he Avould conduct to the scenes of his deadly encounters, 
point out the very spot where each fatal lunge had been given, 
and dwell vaingloriousiy on every particular. 

Under his tuition, the young French chevaliers began to add 
bluster and arrogance to their former petulance and levity; 
they fired up on the most trivial occasions, particularly with 
those who had been most successful with the fair ; and would 
put on the most intolerable drawcansir airs. The other che- 
valiers conducted themselves with all possible forbearance and 
reserve ; but they saw it would be impossible to keep on long, 
in this manner, without coming to an open rupture. 

Among the Spanish cavaliers was one named Don Luis de 
Lima VasconceUos. He was distantly related to the Grand 
Master; and had been enrolled at an early age among his 
pages, but had been rapidly promoted by him, until, at the ago 
of twen-ty-six, he had been given the richest Spanish comman- 
dery in the order. He had, moreover, been fortunate with the 
fair, with one of whom, the most beautiful honorata of Malta, 
he had long maintained the most tender correspondence. 

The character, rank, and connexions of Don Luis put him 
on a par with the imperious Commander de Foulquerre, and 
pointed him out ns a leader and champion to his countrymen. 



132 ~ WOLFERl'^S ROOST AND MlSCELLASsIES. 

The Spanish chevaliers reipaired to him, therefore, in a body; 
represented all the grievances they had sustained, and the 
evils they apprehended, and urged him to use his influence 
with the commander and his adherents to put a stop to the 
growing abuses. 

Don Luis was gratified by this mark of confidence and esteem 
on the part of his countrymen, and promised to have an inter- 
view with the Commander de Foulquerre on the subject. He 
resolved to conduct himself -vith the utmost caution and deli- 
cacy on the occasion ; to represent to the commander the evil 
consequences which might result from the inconsiderate con- 
duct of the young French chevahers, and to entreat him to 
exert the great influence he so deservedly possessed over them, 
to restrain their excesses. Don Luis was aware, however, of 
the peril that attended any interview of the kind with this im- 
perious and fractious man, and apprehended, however it might 
commence, that it would terminate in a duel. Still, it was an 
affair of honor, in which Castilian dignity was concerned; 
beside, he had a lurking disgust at the overbearing manners of 
De Foulquerre, and perhaps had been somewhat offended by 
certain intrusive attentions which he had presumed to pay to 
the beautiful honorata. 

It was now Hoiy Week ; a time too sacred for worldly feuds 
and passions, especially in a commmiity under t>e dominion of 
a religious order; it was agreed, therefore, that the dangerous 
mterview in question should not take place until after the 
Easter holidays. It is probable, from subsequent circumstan- 
o«s, that the Commander de Foulquerre had some information 
of this arrangement among the Spanish chevahers, and was 
determined to be beforehand, and to mortify the pride of their 
champion, Avho was thus preparing to read him a lecture. He 
chose Good Friday for his purpose. On this sacred day, it is 
customary in Catholic coimtries to make a tour of all the- 
chm'ches, offering up prayers in each. In every Catholic 
church, as is well kno^^vn, there is a vessel of holy watet' near 
the door. In this, every one, on entering, dips liis fingers, and 
makes therewith the sign of the cross on his forehead and 
breast. An office of gallantrj^, among the young Spaniarc>3, is 
to stand near the door, dip their hands in the holy vessel, and 
extend thei:i courteously and respectfully to any lady of their 
acquaintance who may enter; who thus receives the saci'ed 
water at second hand, on the tips of her fingers, and proceeds 
to cross herself, with all duo decorum, rho Spaniards, who 



TEE KNIQHT OF MALTA. I33 

are the most jealous of lovers, are impatient when this piece of 
devotional gallantry is proffered to the object ot their affections 
by any other hand: on Good Friday, therefore, when a lady 
makes a tour of the churches, it is the usage among them for 
the inamorato to follow her from church to church, so as to 
present her the holy water at the door of each ; thus testifying 
his own devotion, and at the same time preventing the officious 
services of a rival. 

On the day in question, Don Luis followed the beautiful 
honorata, to whom, as has already been observed, he had 
long been devoted. \t the very first church she visited, the 
Commander de Foulquerre was stationed at the portal, with 
several of the young French chevaliers about him. Before 
Don Luis could offer her the holy water, he was anticipated by 
the commander, who thrust himself between them, and, while 
he performed the gallant office to the l-^iy, rudely turned his 
back upon her admirer^ and trod upon his feet. The insult was 
enjoyed by the young Frenchmen who were present : it was 
too deep and grave to be forgiven by Spanish pride ; and at 
once put an end to all Don Luis' plaas of caution and forbear- 
ance. He repressed his passion for the moment, however, and 
waited until all the parties left the church ; then, accosting the 
commander with an air of coolness and unconcern, he inquired 
after his health, aiad asked to what church he proposed making 
his second visit. " To the Magisterial Church of Saint John." 
Don Luis offered to conduct him thither, by the shortest route. 
His offer was accepted, apparently without suspicion, and they 
proceeded together. After walking somte distance, they entered 
a long, narrow lane, witL out door or window opening upon it, 
called the ' ' Strada Stretta, " or narrow street. It was a street 
in which duels were tacitly permitted, or sonnived at, in Malta, 
and were suffered to pass as accidental encounters. Every 
where else ^'^^r^-r were prohibited. This restriction had b^en 
instituted to diminish the number of duels, formerly so fre- 
quent in Malta. As a farther precaution to render these en- 
counters less fatal, it was an offence, punishable with death, 
for any one to enter this street armed with either poniard or 
pistol. Kt was a lonely, dismal street, just wide enough for 
two men to stand upon their guard, and cross their swords; 
few persons ever traversed it, unless with some sinister design; 
and on any preconceii;ed duello, the seconds posted themselves 
at each end, to stop all passengers, and prevent interruption. 

In the present instance, the parties had scarce entered the 



134 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

street, when Don Luis drew his sword, and called upon the 
commander to defend himself. 

De Foulquerre was evidently taken by surprise: he drew 
back, and attempted to expostulate ; but Don Luis persisted in 
defying him to the combat. 

After a second or two, he likewise drew his sword, but im- 
mediately lowered the point. 

' ' Good Friday !" ejaculated he, shaking liis head : ' ' one word 
with you ; it is full six years since I have been in a confes- 
sional : I am shocked at the state of my conscience ; but within 
three days— that is to say, on Monday next " 

Don Luis would listen to nothing. Though naturally of a 
peaceable disposition, he had been stung to fury, and people of 
that character, when once incensed, are deaf to reason. He 
compelled the commander to put himself on his guard. The 
latter, though a man accustomed to brawl in battle, was singu- 
larly dismayed. Terror wis visible in all his features. He 
placed liimself with his back to the wall, and the weapons were 
crossed. The contest was brief and fatal. At the very first 
thrust, the sword of Don Luis passed through the body of his 
antagonist. The commander staggered to the wall, and leaned 
against it. 

'' On Good Friday !" ejaculated he again, with a failing voice, 
and despairing accents. ''Heaven pardon you!" added he; 
"take my sword to Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses 
performed in the chapel of the castl6, for the repo3e of my 
soul !" With these words he expired. 

The fury of Don Luis was at an end. He stood aghast, gaz- 
ing at the bleeding body of the commander. He called to mind 
thQ prayer of the deceased for three days' respite, to make his 
peace with heaven; he had refused it; had sent him to the 
grave, witli all his sins upon his head ! His conscience smote 
him to the core ; he gathered up the sword of the commander, 
which he had been enjoined to take to tetefoulques, and hur- 
ried from the fatal S^rada Stretta. 

Tiie duel of couree made a gi^eat noise in Malta, but had no 
injurious effect upon the worldly fortunes of Don Luis. He 
made a full declaration of the whole matter, before the proper 
authorities ; the Chapter of the Order considered it one of tbosc 
casual encounters of the Strada Stretta, which were mourned 
over, but tolerated ; the pubhc, by whom the late commander 
had been genei-ally detested, declared that he had deserved his 
fate. It was but three days after the event, that Don Luis was 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 135 

advanced to one of the highest dignities of the Order, being in- 
vested by the Grand ]\Iaster with the priorship of the kingdom 
of IMmorca. 

From that time forward, however, the whole character and 
conduct of Don Luis underwent a change. Ho became a prey 
to a dark^molancholy, which nothing could assuage. The most 
austere 'piety, the severest penances, had no effect in allaying 
the horror wliich preyed upon his mind. He was absent for a 
long time from Malta; having gone, it was said, on remote pil- 
gi-images : when he returned, he was more haggard than ever. 
There seemed something mysterious and inexplicable in this 
disorder of his mind. The following is the revelation made by 
himself, of the horrible visions, or chimeras, by which he was 
haunted : 

' ' When I had made my declaration before the Chapter, " said 
he, ' ' and my provocations were publicly known, I had made 
my peace with man; but.it was not so with God, nor with my 
confessor, nor with my ov^n conscience. My act vfas doubly 
criminal, from the day on which it was committed, and from 
my refusal to a delay of three days, for the victim of my resent- 
ment to receive the sacraments. His despairing ejaculation, 
' Good Friday ! Good Friday ! ' continually rang in my ears. 
* Why did I not grant the respite ! ' cried I to myself ; ' was it not 
enough to kill the body, but must I seek to kill the soul ! ' 

"On the night of the following Friday, I started suddenly 
from my sleep. x\n unaccountable horror was upon me. I 
looked wildly around. It seemed as if I were not in my apart- 
ment, nor in my bed, but in the fatal Strada Stretta, lying on 
the pavement. I again saw the commander leaning against 
the wall ; I again heard his dying words: ' Take my sword to 
Tetcfoulques, and have a hundred masses performed in the 
chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 

" On the follo^ving night, I caused one of my servants to sleep 
in the same room with me. I saw and heard nothing, either 
on that night, or any of the nights following, until the n^xt 
Friday; when I had again the same vision, mththis difference, 
that my valet seemed to be lying at some distance from me on 
the pavement of the Strada Stretta. The vision continued to 
be repeated on every Friday night, the commander always 
appearing in the same manner, and uttering the same words: 
' Take my sv»^ord to Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses 
performed in the chapel of the castle for the repose of my 
soul!' 



136 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

" On questioning my servant on the subject, he stated, that 
on these occasions he dreamed that he was lying in a very 
narrow street, but he neither sa^s^ nor heard any thing of the 
commander. 

"I knew nothing of tliis Teljefoulques, whither the defunct 
was so urgent I should carry his sword. I made inquiries, 
therefore, concerning it among the French chevaliers. They 
informed me that it was aa old castle, situated about four 
leagues from Poitiers, in the midst of a forest. It had been 
built in old times, several centuries since, by Foulques Taille- 
fer, (or Fulke Hackiron,) a redoubtable, hard-fighting Count 
of Angouleme, who gave it to an illegitimate son, afterward 
created Grand Seneschal of Poitou, which son became the pro- 
genitor of the Foulquerres of Tetefoulques, hereditary Sene- 
schals of Poitou. They farther informed me, that strange sto- 
ries were told of this old castle, in the surrounding country, 
and that it contained many curious reliques. Among these, 
were the arms of Foulques Taillefer, together with all those of 
the v/arriors he had slain; and that it was an immemorial 
usage with the Foulquerres to have the weapons deposited 
there wliichthey had wielded either in war or in single combat. 
This, then, was the reason of the dying injunction of the com- 
mander respecting his sword. I carried this weapon with me, 
wherever I went, but still I neglected to comply with his re- 
quest. 

" The visions still continued to harass me with undiminished 
horror. I repaired to Pome, where I confessed myself to the 
Grand Hardinal penitentiary, and informed him of the terrors 
■with which I was haunted. He promised' me absoHition, after 
I should have performed certa,in acts of penance, the principal 
of which vms, to execute the dying request of the connnander, 
by carrying the sword to Tetefoulques, and having the hundred 
masses performed in the chapel of the castle for the repose of 
his soul. 

"I set out for France as speedily as possible, and made no 
delay in my journey. On arriving at Poitiers, I found that 
the tidings of the death of the commander had reached there, 
but had caused no more affliction than among the people of 
Malta. Leaving my equipage in the town, I put on the garb of 
a pilgrim, and taking a guide, set out on foot for Tetefoulques. 
Indeed the roads in this part of the country were impracticable 
for carria,gcs. 

"I foimd the castle of Tol^efoulques a.grand biit -lo--^-- r-.'-.n 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 137 

dilapidated pile. All the gates were closed, and there reigned 
over the whole place an air of almost savage loneliness and 
desertion. I had understood that its only inhabitants were the 
concierge, or warder, and a kind of hermit who had charge of 
the chapel. After ringing for some time at the gate, I at 
length succeeded in bringing forth the warder, who bowed 
with reverence to my pilgrim's garb, f begged him to conduct 
me to the chapel, that being the end oi' my pilgrimage. We 
found the hermifc there, chanting the funeral service ; a dismal 
sound to one who came to perform a penance for the death of 
a member of the family. When he had ceased to chant, I 
informed him that I came to accomphsh an obligation of con- 
science, and that I wished him to perform a hundred masses 
for the repose of the soul of the commander. He replied that, 
not being in orders, he was not authorized to perform mass, 
but that he ^vould willingly undertake to see that my debt of 
conscience was discharged. I laid my offering on the altar, 
and would have placed the sword of tne commander there, 
likewise. 'Hold!' said the hermit, with a melancliol}- shako 
of the head, 'this is no place for so deadly a weapon, that 
has so often been bathed in Christian blood. Take it to the 
armory ; you will find there tropliies enough of like character. 
It is a place into which I never enter.' 

" The warder here took up the theme abandoned by the peace- 
ful man of God. He assured me that I would see in the armory 
the swords of all the warrior race of Foulquerres, together 
with those of the enemies over whom they had triumphed. 
This, he observed, had been a usage kept up since the time of 
Mellusine, and of her husband, Geoffrey a la Grand-dent, or 
Geoffrey with the Great-tooth. 

*' I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. It was a 
great dusty hall, hung round with Gothic-looking portraits, of 
a stark hne of warriors, each with his weapon, and the wea- 
pons of those he had slain in battle, hung beside his picture. 
The most conspicuous portrait was that of Foulques Taillefer, 
(Fulke Hacku-on,) Count of Angouleme, and founder of the 
castle. He was represented at full length, araied cap-rx-pie, 
and grasping a huge buckler, on which were emblazoned three 
lions passant. The figiu-c was so striking, that it seemed ready 
to start from the canvas : and I observed beneath this picture, 
a trophy composed of many v/eapons, proofs of the numerous 
triumphs of this hard-fighting old cavaHer. Beside the wea- 
pons connected with the portraits, there were swords of ail 



133 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

!-hapes, sizes, and centuries, hung round the haH ; with piles of 
armor, placed as it Avere in effigy. 

" On each side of an immense chimney, were suspended the 
portraits of the first seneschal of Poitou (the illegitunate son of 
Foulques Taiiief er) and his wife Isabella de Lusignan ; the pro- 
genitors of the grim race oi Foulquerres that frowned around. 
They had the look of being perfect likenesses ; and as I gazed on 
thsm, I fancied I could trace in their antiquated features some 
family resemblance to their unfortunate descendant, whom I 
had slam ! This was a dismal neighborhood, yet the armory 
was the only part of the castle that had a habitable air ; so I 
asked the warder whether ho could not make a fire, and give 
me something for supper there, and prepare me a bed in one 
comer. 

" ' A fire and a supper you shall have, and that cheerfully, most 
worthy pilgrim,' said he; 'but as to a bed, I advise you 
to come and sleep in my chamber. ' 

" ' Why so? ' inquired I ; ' why shall I not sleep in this hall? ^ 

" • I have my reasons; I will make a bed for you close to 
mine.' 

" I made no objections, for I recollected that it was Friday, 
and I dreaded the return of my vision. He brought in billets 
Ox wood, kindled a fire in the gTcat overhanging chimney, and 
then went forth to prepare my supper. I drew a heavy chair 
before the fire, and seating myself m it, gazed muzingly round 
upon the portraits of the Foulquerres, and the antiquated 
armor and weapons, the mementos of many a bloody deed. As 
the day declined, the smoky draperies of the hall gradually 
becamj3 o'li founded with the dark ground of the paintings, and 
the hirid gk^ams from the chimney only enabled mc to see 
vis^es staring at me from the gathering darkness.* All this 
was dismal in the extreme, and somewhat appalling; perhaps 
it was the state of my conscience that rendered me peculiarly 
sensitive, and prone to fearful imaginings. 

" At length the warder brought in my supper. It consisted 
of a dish of trout, and some crawfish taken in the fosse of the 
castle. He procured also a bottle of wine, which ho informed 
me was wine of Poitou. I requested him to invite the hermit 
to join me in my repast ; but the holy man sent back word that 
he allowed himself nothing but roots and herbs, cooked with 
water. I took my meal, therefore, alone, but prolonged it as 
much as possible, and sought to cheer my drooping spirits by 
the vnxiQ of Poitou, which I found very tolerable. 



THE ENIQHT OF MALTA. 139 

"When supper was over, I prepared for my evening devo- 
tions. I have always been very punctual in reciting my brevi- 
ary ; it is the prescribed and bounden duty of all chevaliers of 
the religious orders; and I can answer for it, is taithfully 
performed by those of Spain. I accordingly drew forth from 
my pocket a small missal and a rosary, and told the warder 
he need only designate to me the way to his chamber, where I 
could come and rejoin liim, when I had finished my prayers. 

"He accordingly pointed out a winding stair-case, opening 
from the hall. 'You will descend this stair-case,' said he, 
' until you come to the fourth landing-place, where you enter a 
vaulted passage, terminated by an arcade, with a statue of the 
blessed Jeanne of France ; you cannot help finding my room, 
the door of which I will leave open ; it is the sixth door from 
the landing-place, I advise you not to remain in this hall after 
midnight. Before that hour, you will hear the hermit ring the 
bell, in going the rounds of the corridors. Do not linger here 
after that signal.' 

" The warder retired, and I commenced my devotions. I 
continued at them earnestly ; pausing from time to time to put 
wood upon the fire. I did not dare to look much around me, 
for I felt myself becoming a prey to fearful fancies. The pic- 
tures appeared to 'become animated. If I regarded one atten- 
tively, for any length of time, it seemed to move the eyes and 
lips. Above all, the portraits of the Grand Senesclial and liis 
lady, which hung on each side of the great chimney, the pro- 
genitors of the Foulquerres of Tetefoulque, regarded me, I 
thought, with angry and baleful eyes: I even fancied they 
exchanged significant glance."; with each other. Just then a 
terrible blast ofwind shook all the casements, and, rushing 
through the hall, made a fearful rattling and clashing among 
the armor. To my startled fancy, it seemed something super- 
natural. 

"At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and hastened to 
quit the hall. Taking a sohtary light, which stood on the sup- 
per-table, I descended the winding stair-case ; but before I had 
reached the vaulted passage leading to the statue of the blessed 
Jeanne of France, a blast of wind extinguished my taper. I 
hastily remounted the stairs, to light it again at the chimney ; 
but judge of my feelings, when, on arriving at the entrance to 
the armory, I beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who had 
descended from their frames,- sgRHd seated themselves on eacfe 
side of th^ firo-i-ilaro ! 



140 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

" I 

'' ' Madam, my love,' said the Seneschal, with great formality, 
and m. anticfaatcd phrase, 'what think you of the presump- 
tion ot this Gastilian, who comes to harbor himself and make 
wassail in tiiis our castle, after having slain our descendant, 
the commander, and that without granting him time for con- 
fession? ' 

" ' Truly, my lord,' answered the female spectre, with no less 
stateliness of manner, and with great asperity of tone ; ' truly, 
my lord, I opine that this Castihan did a grievous wrong in ttds 
encounter; and he should never be suffered to depart hence, 
wrrthout your throwing^ him the gauntlet.' I paused to hear no 
more, hut rushed again down-stairs, to seek the chamber of the 
warder, it was impossible to find it in the darkness, and in the 
perturbation of my mind. After an hour and a half of fruitless 
search, and mortal horror and anxieties, I endeavored to per- 
suade myself that the day was about to break, and listened 
impatiently for the crowing of the cock ; for I thought if I could 
hear liis cheerful note, I should be reassured ; catching, in the 
disordered state of my nerves, at the popular notion that 
ghosts never appear after the first crowing of the cock. 

"At length I ralhed myself, and endeavored to shake off the 
vague terrors which haunted me. I tried to persuade myself 
that the two figures which I had seemed to see and hear, had 
existed only in my troubled imagination. I still had the end 
of the candle in my hand, and determined to make another 
effort to re-light it, and find my way to bed ; for I was ready to 
sink with fatigue. I accordingly sprang up the stair-case, 
three steps at a time, stopped at the door of the armory, and 
peeped cautiously in. The two Gothic figures were no longer 
in the chimney comers, but I neglected to notice whether they 
had reascended to their frames. I entered, and made desper- 
ately for the fire-place, but scarce had I advanced three strides, 
when I\Iessire Foulques Taillefer stood before me, in the centre 
of the haU, armed cap-a-pie, and standing in guard, with the 
point of his sword silently presented to me. I would have 
retreated to the stair-case, but the door of it was occupied by 
the phantom figure of an esquire, who rudely flung a gauntlet 
in my face. Driven to fury, I snatched down a sword from the 
wall : by chance, it was that of the commander which I had 
placed there. I rushed upon my fantastic adversary, and 
seemed to pierce him through and through; but at the same 
time I felt as if something gararoed my heart, burning 3ik& a 
rod-hot iron, jly h'ood inuDdated the hall, and T " " • --- -v->- 



J 



TEE KNIGHT OF MALTA. J[4X 

**When I recovered consciousness, it was broad day, and I 
found myscK in a small chamber, attended by the warder and 
ihe hermit. The former told me that on the previous night, he 
had awakened long alter the midnight hour, and perceiving 
that I had not come to his chamber, he had furnished hunself 
with a vase of holy water, and set out to seek me. He found 
nie stretched senseless on the pavement of the ai'mory, and 
bore me to this room. I spoke of m.j wound, and of the quan- 
tity of blood that I had lost. He shook his head, and knew 
nothing about it: and to my surprise, on examination, I found 
myself perfectly sound and imharmed. The wound and blood, 
therefore, had been all delusion. Neither the warder nor the 
hermit put any questions to me, but advised me to leave the 
castle as soon as possible. I lost no time in comiDlying with 
then* counsel, and felt my heart relieved fi'om an oppressive 
weight, as I left the gloomy and fate-bound battlements of 
Tetefoulques beiiind me. 

"I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, on the follow- 
ing Friday. At midnight I was startled from my sleep, as I 
had formerly been ; but it was no longer by the vision of the 
dying commander. It was old Foulques Taillefer who stood 
before me, armed cap-a-pie, and presenting the point of his 
sword. I made the sign of the cross, and the spectre vanished, 
but I received the same red-hot thrust in the heart which I had 
felt in the armory, and I seemed to be bathed in blood. I would 
have called out, or have arisen frorji my bed and gone in quest 
of succor, but I could neither speak nor stir. This agony en- 
dured until the crowing of the cock, when I fell asleep again ; 
but the next day I was ill, and in a most pitiable state. I 
have continued to be harassed by the same vision every Fri- 
day night ; no acts of penitence and devotion have been able to 
relieve me from it ; and it is only a lingering hope in divine 
mercy, that sustains me, and enables me to support so lamen- 
table a visitation. " 



The Grand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually away under 
this constant remorse of conscience, and this horrible incubus. 
He died some time after having revealed the preceding particu- 
lars of his case, evidently the victim of a diseased imagination. 

The above relation has been rendered, in many parts literally, 
from the Fiench memoir, in which it is given as a true story: 
ir so, it is one of. those instiincori in which truth is more 
I'omiintic thon fictijon G. C. 



142 WOLFEUrS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 

At the dark and melancholy period when Don Roderick tha 
Goth and his chivalry were overthrown on the banks of the 
Gnadalete, and all Spain was overrun by the Moors, great was 
the devastation of churches and convents throughout that 
pious kingdom. The miraculous fate of one of those holy piles 
is thus recorded in one of the authentic legends of those days. 

On the summit of a hill, not very distant from the capital 
city of Toledo, stood an ancient convent and chapel, dedicated 
to the invocation of Samt Benedict, and inhabited by a sister- 
hood of Benedictine nuns. This holy asylum was confined to 
females of noble lineage. The younger sisters of the highest 
tamilies were here ^ven in religious marriage to their Saviour, 
in order that the portions of their elder sisters might be in- 
creased, and they enabled to make suitable matches on earth, 
or that the family wealth might go undivided to elder brothers, 
and the dignity of their ancient houses be protected from 
decay. The convent was renowned, therefore, for enshrining 
within its walls a eisterhood of the purest blood, the most im- 
maculate vktue, and most resplendent beauty, of all Gothic 
Spain. 

When the Moors overran the kingdom, there was nothing 
that more excited their hostility than these virgin asylums. 
The very sight of a convent-spire was sufficient to set their 
Moslem blood in a foment, and they sacked it with as fierce a 
zeal as though the sacking of a nunnery were a sure passport 
to Elysium. 

Tidings of such outrages committed in various parts of the. 
kingdom reached this noble sanctuary and filled it with dis- 
may. The danger came nearer and nearer; the infidel hosts 
were spreading all over the country; Toledo itself was cap- 
tured ; there was no flying from the convent, and no security 
within its walls. 

In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was given one day 
that a great band of Saracens were spurring across the plain. 
In an instant the whole convent was a scene of confusion. 
Some of the nuns wrun^ their fair hands at the ^vindows; 
ethers waved their veils and uttered shrieks from the tops of 
tjie towers, vainly hoping to draAV relief from a country over- 



) 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVSTNT. I43 

run by the foe. The sight of these innocent doves thus flutter- 
ing about their dove-cote, but increased the zealot fury of the 
whiskered Moors. They thundered at the portal, and at evejy 
blow the ponderous gates trembled on their hinges. 

The nuns now crowded round the abbess. They had been 
accustomed to look up to her as all-powerful, and they now hn- 
plored her protection. The mother abbess looked with a rueful 
eye upon the treasures of beauty and vestal virtue exposed to 
such imminent peril. Alas ! how was she to protect them from 
the spoiler ! She had, it is true, experienced many signal inter- 
positions of providence in her individual favor. Her early 
days had been passed amid the temptations of a court, where 
her virtue had been purified by repeated trials, from none of 
which had she escaped but by a miracle. But were miracles 
never to cease? Could she hope that the marvellous protection 
shown to herself would be extended to a vv'hole sisterhood? 
There was no other resource. The Moors were at the thresh- 
old ; a few moments more and the convent would be at their 
mercy. Summoning her nuns to follow her, she hurried into 
the chapel ; and throwing herself on her knees before the image 
of the blessed Mary, "Oh, holy Lady!" exclaimed she, "oh, 
most pure and immaculate of virgins ! thou seest our extremity. 
The ravager is at the gate, and there is none on earth to help 
us ! Look down with pity, and grant that the earth may gape 
and swallow us rather than that our cloister vows should suf- 
fer violation!" 

The Moors redoubled their assault upon the portal ; the gates 
gave way, with a tremendous crash ; a savage yell of exulta- 
tion arose ; when of a sudden the earth yawned ; down sank the 
convent, v/ith its cloisters, its dormitories, and all its nuns. 
The chapel tower was the last that sank, the bell ringing 
forth a peal of triumph in the very teeth of the infidels. 



Forty years had passed and gone, since the period of this 
miracle. The subjugation of Spain was complete. The Moors 
lorded it over city and country; and such of the Christian 
population as remained, and were permitted to exercise their 
religion, did it in humble resignation to the ]\roslem sway. 

At this time, a Christian cavalier, of Cordova, hearing that 
a patriotic band of his countrymen had raised the standard of 
the cross in the mountains of the Asturias, resolved to join 
them, and unite in breaking the yoke cf bondage. Secretly 



144 WOLFEUTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

arming himself, and caparisoning Ins steed, he set forth from 
Cordova, and pursued his course by unfrequented mule-paths, 
and along the dry channels made by \vinter torrents. Kis 
spirit burned with indignation, whenever, on commandiag a 
view over a long sweeping plain, he beheld the mosque swell- 
ing in the distance, and the Ai-ab hoi*semen careering about, 
as if the rightf id lords of the soil. Many a deep-dra\vn sigh, 
and heavy groan, also, did the good cavalier utter, on pass- 
ing the ruins of churches and convents desolated by the con- 
querors. 

It was on a siUtry midsummer evening, that this wander- 
ing cavaher, in skirting a hill thickly covered with forest, heard 
the faint tones of a vesper bell sounding melodiously in the 
air, and seeming to come from the summit of the hill. The 
cavalier crossed himself with wonder, at this miwonted and 
Christian sound. He supposed it to proceed from one of those 
humble chapels and herixdtages permitted to exist through 
the indulgence of the Moslem conquerors. Tui'ning his steed 
up a narrow path of the forest, he sought this sanctuary, in 
hopes of finding a hospitable shelter for the night. As he 
advanced, the trees threw a deep gloom ai'ound him, and 
the bat flitted across his path. The bell ceased to toll, and 
all was silence. 

Presently a chou* of female voices came steading sweetly 
through the forest, chanting the evening service, to the solemn 
accompanunent of an organ. The heart of the good cavalier 
melted at the sound, for it recalled the happier days of his 
country. Urging forward his weary steed, he at length ar- 
rived at a broad grassy area, on the summit of the hill, sur- 
rounded by the forest. Here the melodious voices rose in full 
chorus, like the swelling of the breeze ; but whence they came, 
he could not tell. Sometimes they were before, sometimes 
behind him ; sometimes in the air, sometimes as if from within 
the bosom of the earth. At length they died away, and a holy 
stilhiess settled on the place. 

The cavalier gazed around with bewildered eye. There 
was neither chapel nor convent, nor hum.ble hermitage, to 
be seen ; nothing but a mos?-grown stone pinnacle, rising out 
of the centre of the area, surmounted by a cross. Tlic green- 
sward around appeared to have been sacred from the tread 
of man or beast, and the surrounding trees bent toward the 
cross, as if in adoration. 
. The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. He alighted ar.d 



LEGEND OF TEE ENGULPIIEB CONVENT. 145 

tethered his steed on the skirts of the forest, where he might 
crop the tender herbage ; then approaching the cross, ho knelt 
and poured forth his evening prayers before this rehque of 
the Christian days of Spain. His orisons being concluded, 
he laid himself down at the foot of the pinnacle, and reclin- 
ing his head against one of its stones, fell into a deep sleep. 

About midnight, he was awakened by the toUing of a bell, 
and found himself lying before the gate of an ancient con- 
vent. A train of nuns passed by, each bearing a taper. The 
cavaher rose and followed them into the chapel; in the cen- 
tre of which was a bier, on which lay the corpse of an aged 
nun. The organ performed a solemn requiem : the nuns join- 
ing in chorus. When the funeral service was finished, a 
melodious voice chanted, ^' Requiescat in paceP^ — "May sho 
rest in peace !" The hghts immediately vanished ; the whole 
passed away as a dream; and the cavalier found himself at 
the foot of the cross, and beheld, by the faint rays of the 
lising moon, his steed quietly grazing near him. 

When the day dawned, the cavalier descended the hill, and 
following the course of a small brook, came to a cave, at the 
entrance of which was seated an ancient man, clad in hermit's 
garb, with rosary and cross, and a beard that descended to his 
girdle. He was one of those holy anchorites permitted by the 
Moors to live unmolested in dens and caves, and humble her- 
mitages, and even to practise the rites of their religion. The 
cavalier checked his horse, and dismounting, knelt and craved 
a benediction. He then related all that had befallen him in 
the nip:ht, and besought the hermit to explain the mystery. 

"What thou hast heard and seen, my son," replied the 
other, "is but type and shadow of the woes of Spain." 

He then related the foregoing story of the miraculous de- 
liverance of the convent. 

"Forty years," added the holy man, "have elapsed since 
this event, yet the bells of that sacred edifice are still heard, 
from time to time, sounding from under ground, together 
with the pealing of the or ran, and the chanting of the choir. 
The Moors avoid this neighborhood, as haunted ground, and 
the whole place, as thou mayest perceive, has becoine covered 
with a thick and lonely forest." 

The cavalier listened with wonder to the story of this en- 
gTilphed convent, as related by the holy man. For three days 
and nights did they keep vigils beside the cross ; but notliing 
rnore was to be seen of nun or convent It is supposed -that, 



146 W0LFERT8 ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

forty years having elapsed, the natural lives of all the iiuns 

were finished, and that the cavalier had beheld the obsequies 
of the last of the sisterhood. Certain it is, that from that 
time, bell, and organ, and choral chant have never more been 
hoard. 

The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the cross, still 
remains an object of pious pii2:nmage. Some say that it 
anciently stood in front of the convent, but others assert that 
it was the spire of the sacred edifice, and that, when the 
main body of the building sank, this remained above ground, 
like the top-mast of some tall ship that has foundered. 
These pious believeis maintain, that the convent is miracu- 
lously preserved entire in the centre of the mountain, where, 
if proper excavations were made, it would be found, with all 
its treasures, and monuments, and shi'ines, and rehques, and 
the tombs of its virgin nuns. 

Should any one doubt the truth of tliis marvellous inter- 
position of the Virgin, to protect the vestal purity of her 
votaries, let him road the excellent work entitled " Espaila 
Triumphante," written by Padre Fray Antonio de Sancta 
]\Iaria, a bare-foot friar of the Carmehte order, and he mil 
doubt no longer. 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

During the minority of Louis XV., while the Duke of 
Orleans was Regent of France, a young Flemish nobleman, 
the Count x^ntoine Joseph Van Horn, made his sudden ap- 
pearance in Paris, and by his character, conduct, and the sub- 
sequent disasters in which he became involved, created a great 
sensation in the high circles of the proud aristocracy. He 
was about twenty-two years of age, tali, finely fonned, with a 
pale, romantic countenance, and e3^e3 of remarkable brilliancy 
and wildness. 

He was of one of the most ancient and higlily-esteemed 
families of European nobility, being of the line of the Princes 
of Hoi-n and Overique, sovereign Counts of Hautekerke, and 
hereditary Grand Veneurs of the empire. 

The family took its name from the little town and seigneurie 
of Horn, in Brabant ; and was known as early as the eleventh 
century among the little dynasties of the Netherlands, and 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 147 

since that time by a long line of illustrious generations. At 
fche peace of Utrecht, when the Netherlands passed under sub- 
jection to Austria, the house of Van Horn came under the 
domination of the emperor. At the time we treat of, two of 
the branches of this ancient house were extinct ; the third and 
only surviving branch was represented by the reigning prince, 
Maximilian Emanuel Van Horn, twenty-four years of age, who 
resided in honorable and courtly style on his hereditary do- 
mains at Baussigny, in the Netherlands, and liis brother, the 
Count Antoine Joseph, who is the subject of this memoir. 

The ancient house of Van Horn, by the intermariiage of its 
various branches with the noble families of the continent, had 
become widely connected and interwoven with the high aris- 
Docracy of Europe. The Count Antoine, therefore, could claim 
relationship to many of the proudest names in Paris. In fact, 
be was grandson, by the mother's side, of the Prince de Ligne, 
and even might boast of affinity to the Regent (the Dul^e of 
Orleans) himself. There were circumstances, however, con- 
nected with his sudden appearance in Paris, and his previous 
story, that placed him in what is termed "a false position;" a 
word of baleful significance in the fashionable vocabulary of 
France. 

The young count had been a captain in the service of Aus- 
tria, but had been cashiered for irregular conduct, and for 
disrespect to Prince Louis of Baden, commander-in-chief. To 
check him in his wild career, and bring him to sober reflection, 
his brother the prince caused him to be arrested and sent to 
the old castle of Van Wert, in the domains of Horn. . This was 
fche same castle m which, in former times, John Van Horn, 
Stadtholder of Gueldres, had imprisoned his father ; a circum- 
stance which has furnished Rembrandt with tho subject of an 
admirable painting. The governor of the cnstle Avas one Van 
Wert, grandson of the famous John Van Wert, the hero of 
many a popular song and legend. It was the intention of the 
prince that his brother should be held in honorable durance, 
for his object was to sober and improve, not to punish and 
aiilict him. Van Wert, however, was a stern, harsh man of 
violent passions. He treated the youth in a manner that pri- 
soners and offenders were treated in the strong-holds of the 
robber counts of Germany in old times; confined him in a 
dungeon and inflicted on him such hardships and indignities 
that the irritable temperament of the young count was roused 
to continual furv. which ended in insanity. For six months 



148 WOLFERTS R008T AND MISCELLAmES, 

was tha unfortunate youth kept in this horrible state, without 
his brother the prince being infoimed of his melancholy condi- 
tion or of the cruel treatment to which he was subjected At 
length, one day, m a paroxysm of frenzy, the count knocked 
down two of hLs gaolers with a beetle, escaped from the castle 
of Van Wert, and eluded all pursuit; and after roving about 
in a state of distraction, made his way to Baussigny and 
appeared like a sceptre before his brother. 

The prmce was shocked at his wretched, emaciated appear- 
aiice and his lamentable state of mental ahenation He re- 
ceived him with the most compassionate tenderness; lodo-ed 
him m his own room, appointed three servants to attend and 
watch over him day and night, and endeavored by the most 
soothing and affectionate assiduity to atone for the^past act of 
rigor with which he reproached hunself. When he learned 
however, the manner in which his unfortunate brother had 
been treated in confinement, and the course of brutalities that 
had led to his mental malady, he was roused to indignation 
His first step was to cashier Van Wert from his command. 
That violent man set the prmce at defiance, and attempted to 
maintain himself in his government and his castle by instigat- 
ing the peasants, for several leagues round, to revolt. His 
insurrection might have been formidable against the power of 
a petty prince; but he was put under the ban of the empire 
and seized as a state prisoner. The memory of his grandfather, 
the oft-sung John Van Wert, alone saved him from a gibbet' 
but lie was imprisoned in the strong tower of Hom-op-Zee.' 
There he remained until he was eighty-two years of age, sav- 
age, violent, and unconquered to the last; for we are told that 
he never ceased fighting and thumping as long as he could 
close a fist or wield a cudgel. 

In the mean time a course of kind and gentle treatment and 
wholesome regimen, and. above all, the tender and afl^ectionate 
assiduity of his brother, the prince, produced the most salutary 
efi"ects upon Count Antoine. He gradually recovered his 
reason; but a degree of violence seemed always lurking at the 
bottom of his character, and he required to be treated with the 
greatest caution and mildness, for the least contradiction exas- 
perated him. 

In this state of mental convalescence, he began to find the 
supervision and restraints of brotherly affection insupportable; 
so he loft the Netherlands furtively, and repaired to Paris' 
whither, in fact, it is said he was called by motives of interest 



TEE COUNT VAN HORN. 1'49 

to make arrangements concerning a valuable estate which he 
inherited from his relative, the Princess d'Epinay. 

On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the Marquis of Crequi, 
and other of the high nobihty with whom he was comiected. 
He was received with great courtesy ; but, as he brought no 
letters from his elder brother, the prince, and as various cu'- 
cumstances of his previous history had transpired, they did 
not receive him into iheir famihes, nor introduce hmi to theii- 
ladies. Still they feted liim in bachelor style, gave him gay 
and. elegant suppers at their separate apartments, and took 
hiin; to their boxes at the theatres. He was often noticed, too, 
at the doors of the most fashionable churches, taking his stand 
among the young men of fashion; and at such times, his tall, 
elegant figure, his pa]e but handsome countenance, and his 
flashing eyes, distinguished him from among the crowd ; and 
the ladies declared that it was almost impossible to support his 
ardent gaze. 

The Count did not afflict himself much at his limited circu- 
lation in the fastidious circles of the high aristocracy. He 
rehshed society of a wilder and less ceremonious cast; and 
meeting with loose companions to his taste, soon ran into all 
the excesses of the capital, in that most licentious period. It 
is said that, in the course of his wild career, he had an intrigue 
with a lady of quality, a favorite of the Regent ; that he was 
surprised by that prince in one of his interviews ; that sharp 
words passed between them; and that the jealousy and ven- 
geance tlmis awakened, ended only with his hfe. 

About this time, the famous Mississippi scheme of Law was 
at its height, or rather it began to threaten that disastrous 
catastrophe wliich convulsed the whole financial world. Every 
effort was making to keep the bubble inflated. The vagi-ant 
population of France was swept off from the streets at night, 
and conveyed to Havre de Grace, to be shipped to the pro- 
jected colonies ; even laboring people and mechanics were thus 
crimped and spirited away. As Count Antoine was in the 
habit of sallying forth at night, in disguise, in pursuit of his 
pleasures, he came near being carried off by a gang of crimps ; 
it seemed, in fact, as if they had been lying in wait for him, as 
he had experienced very rough treatment at their hands. 
Complaint was made of his case by his relation, the Marquis 
de Crequi, who took much interest in the youth; but the Mar- 
quis received mysterious intimations not to interfere in the 
matter, but to ad^.ise the Count to quit Paris immediately: 



150 WOLFELirS ROOST AND MISCELLANIEa. 



" If he lingers, he is lost !" This has been cited as a proof that 

vengeance was dogging at the heels of the unfortunate youth, 
and only watching ior an opportunity to destroy him. 

Such opportunity occurred but too soon. Among the loose 
companions with whom the Coimt had become intimate, were 
two who lodged in the same hotel with him. One was a youth 
only twenty years of age, who passed himself off as the Cheva- 
hcr d'Etampcs, but whose real name was Lestang, the prodi- 
gal son of a Flemish b.aiker. The other, named Laurent de 
iviille, a Piedmontese, vv'as a casliiercd captain, and at the tune 
an esquire in tjie servic e of the dissolute Princess de Carignan, 
Avho kept gambling-tables in her palace. It is probable that 
gambling propensities had driven these young men together, 
and that their losses had brought them to desperate measures : 
certain it is, that all Paris was suddenly astounded by a mur- 
der which they were said to have committed. What made the 
crime more startling, was, that it seemed comiected with the 
great Mississippi scheme, at that time the fruitful source of all 
kinds of panics aiid agitations. A Jew, a stock-bi'oker, who 
dealt largely in shares of the bank of Law, founded on the 
Ivlississippi scheme, was the victim. The story of his death is 
variously related. Tlie daikest account states, that the Jew 
was decoyed by these young men into an obscure tavern, 
under pretext of negotiating with him for bank shares to the 
amount of one hundred thousand crowns, which he had with 
him in his pocket-book. Lestang kept watch upon the stairs. 
The Count and De Mille entered with the Jew into a chamber. 
In a little while there were heard cries and struggles from 
within. A waiter passing by the room, looked in, and seeing 
the Jew weltering in his blood, shut the door again, double- 
locked it, and alarmed the house. Lestang rushed down- 
stairs, made his way to the hotel, secured liis most portable 
effects, and fled the country. The Count and De Mille en- 
deavored to escape by the window, but were both taken, and 
conducted to prison. 

A circumstance which occurs in this part of the Count's 
story, seems to point Jiim out as a fated man. His mother, 
and his brother, the Prince Van Horn, had received intelh- 
gence some time before at Baussigny, of the dif^solute life the 
Count was leading at Paris, and of his losses at play. They 
despatched a gentleman of the prince's household to Paris, to 
pay the debts of the Count, and persuade him to return to 
FlanderF*. ; or. if ho should rofnop. to obtain an order from the 



1 



THE COUNT VAjY UOBK 151 

Regent for him to quit the capital. Unfortunately the gentle- 
man did not arrive at Paris until the day after the murder. 

Tiie news of the Count's arrest and imprisonment on a 
charge of murder, caused a violent sensation c-i^ong the high 
aristocracy. All those coimected with him, who had treated 
hhn hithei'to with indifference, found their dignity deeply in- 
volved in the question of his guilt or hmocence. A general 
convocation was held at the hotel of the Idarquis de Crequi, of 
all the relatives and aUies of the house of Horn. It was an as- 
semblage of the most proud and aristocratic personages of 
Paris. Inquiries were made into the circumstances of the 
affair. It was ascertained, beyond a doubt, that the Jew was 
dead, and that he had been killed by several stabs of a pon- 
iard. In escaping by the window, it was said that the Count 
had fallen, and been immediately taken ; but that De lliUe had 
fled through the streets, pursued by the populace, and had Vepn 
arrested at some distance from the scene of the murder ; that 
the Count had declared himself innocent of the death of the 
Jew, and that he had risked his own life in endeavoring to 
protect him ; but that De Mille, on being brought back to the 
tavern, confessed to a plot to murder the broker, and rob hhn 
of liis pocket-book, and inculpated the Count in the crime. 

Another version of the story was, that the Count Van Plorn 
had deposited with the broker, bank shares to the amount of 
eighty-eight thousand livres ; that he had sought him in this 
tavern, which was one of his resorts, and had demanded the 
shares; that the Jew had denied the deposit; that a quarrel 
had ensued, in the course of which the Jew struck the Count 
in the face; that the latter, transported with rage, had 
snatched up a knife from a table, and wounded the Jew in 
the shoulder; and that thereupon De Mille, who was present, 
and who had likewise been defrauded by the broker, fell on 
him, and despatched him with blows of a poniard, and seized 
upon his pocket-book ; that he had offered to divide the con- 
tents of the latter with the Count, pro rata, of what the usurer 
had defrauded them ; that the latter had refused the proposi 
tion with disdain, and that, at a noise of persons approach- 
ing, both had attempted to escape from the premises, but had 
been taken. 

Regard the story in any way they might, appearances were 
terribly against the Count, and the noble assemblage was in 
great consternation. What was to be done to ward off so foul 
a disgrace and to save their illustrious Escutcheons from this 



152 WOLFERTS BOOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

murderous stain of blood? Their first attempt was to prevent 
the affair from going to trial, and their relative from being 
dragged before a criminal tribunal, on so horrible and de- 
grading a charge. They applied, therefore, to the Regent, to 
intervene his power ; to treat the Count as having acted under 
an access of his mental malady ; and to shut him up in a mad- 
house. The Eegent was deaf to their solicitations. He re- 
plied, coldly, that if the Comit was a madman, one could not 
get rid too quickly of madmen who were furious in their in- 
sanity. The crime was too public and atrocious to be hushed 
up or slurred over ; justice must take its course. 

Seeing there was no avoiding the humihating scene of a 
public trial, the noble relatives of the Count endeavored to pre- 
dispose the minds of the magistrates before whom he was to 
be arraigned. They accordingly made urgent and eloquent 
representations of the high descent, and noble and powerful 
coiihexions of the Count; set forth the circumstances of Ms 
early history; his mental malady; the nervous irritability to 
which he was subject, and his extreme sensitiveness to insult 
or contradiction. By these means they sought to prepare the 
judges to interpret every thing in favor of the Count, and, 
even if it should prove that he had inflicted the mortal blow 
an the usurer, to attribute it to access of insanity, provoked 
by insult. 

To give full effect to these representations, the noble con- 
clave determined to bring upon the judges the dazzling rays 
of the whole assembled aristocracy. Accordingly, on the day 
that the trial took place, the relations of the Coimt, to the 
number of fifty-seven persons, of both sexes, and of the high- 
est rank, repaired in a body to the Palace of Justice, and took 
their stations in a long corridor which led to the court-room. 
Here, as the judges entered, they had to pass in review this 
array of lofty and noble personages, who saluted them mourn- 
fully and significantly, as they passed. Any one conversant 
with the stately pride and jealous dignity of the French 
noblesse of that day, may imagine the extreme state of sensi- 
tiveness that produced this self-abasement. It was confidently 
Ijresumed, however, by the noble suppliants, that having once 
brought themselves to this measure, their influence over the 
tribunal would bo irresistible. There was one lady present, 
however, i\Iadame de Beauffremont, who was affected with 
the Scottish gift of second sight, and related such dismal and 
sinister apparitions as passing before her eyes, that many of 



TEE COUNT VAN HORN. 153 

her female companions were filled with doleful presenti- 
ments. 

Unfortunately for the Count, there was another interest at 
work, more powerful even than the high aristocracy. The all- 
potent Abbe Dubois, the grand favorite and bosom counsellor 
of the Regent, was deeply interested in the scheme of Law, 
and the prosperity of his bank, and of course in tiie security of 
the stock-brokers. Indeed, the Eegent himself is said to hav(3 
dipped deep in the Mississippi scheme. Dubois and Law, 
therefore, exerted their influence to the utmost to have the 
tragic affair pushed to the extremity of the law, and the mur- 
der of the broker punished in the most signal and appalling 
manner. Certain it is, the trial was neither long nor intricate. 
The Count and his fellovv^ prisoner were equally incidpated in 
the crime ; and both were condemned to a death the most hor- 
rible and ignominious— to be broken alive on the wheel! 

As soon as the sentence of the court was made public, all the 
nobility, in any degree related to the house of Van Horn, went 
into mourning. Another grand aristocratical assemblage was 
held, and a petition to the Regent, on behalf of the Count, was 
drawn out and loft with the Marquis de Crequi for signature. 
This petition set forth the previous insanity of the Count, and 
showed that it was a hereditary malady of his family. It 
stated various circumstances in mitigation of his offence, and 
implored that his sentence might be commuted to perpetual 
imprisonment. 

Upward of fifty names of the highest nobihty, beginning 
with the Prince de Ligne, and including cardinals, arch- 
bishops, dukes, marquises, etc., together with ladies of equal 
rank, were signed to this petition. By one of the caprices of 
human pride and vanity, it became an object of ambition to 
get enrolled among the illustrious suppliants ; a kind of testi- 
monial of noble blood, to prove relationship to a murderer! 
The Marquis de Crequi was absolutely besieged by applicants 
to sign, and had to refer their claims to this singular honor, to 
the Prince de Ligne, the grandfather of the Count. Many who 
were excluded, were higlily incensed, and nmnerous feuds took 
place. Nay, the affronts thus given to the morbid pride of 
some aristocratical families, passed from generation to genera- 
tion ; for, fifty years afterward, the Duchess of Mazarin com- 
plained of a slight which her father had received from the Mar- 
quis de Crequi ; which proved to be something connected with 
the signature of this petition. ..::.... 



354 W0LirEB2"S BOOST AND MISCELLANIES, 

This important document being completed, the illustrious 
body of petitioners, male and f emaJe, on Saturday evening, 
the eve of Palm Sunday, repaired to the Palais Roj^al, the resi- 
dence of the Regent, and were ushered, with great ceremony 
but profound silence, into his hall of council. They had ap- 
pointed four of their number as deputies, to present the peti- 
tion, viz, : the Cardinal de Rohan, the Duke de Havre, the 
Prince de Ligne, and the Marquis de Crequi. After a little 
while, the deputies were summoned to the cabinet of the Re- 
gent. They entered, leaving the assembled petitioners in a state 
of the greatest anxiety. As time slowly wore away, and the 
evening advanced, the gloom of the company increased. Sev- 
eral of the ladies prayed devoutly; the good Princess of Ar- 
magnac told her beasls. 

The petition was received by the Regent with a most unpropi- 
tious aspect. " In asking the pardon of the criminal," said ho, 
"you display more zeal for the house of Van Horn, than for 
the service of the king." The noble deputies enforced the peti- 
tion by every argument in their power. They supplicated the 
Regent to consider that the infamous punishment *in question 
woLild reach not merely the person of the condemned, not 
merely the house of Van Horn, but also the genealogies of 
princely and illustrious families, in whose armorial bearings 
might be found quarterings of this dishonored name." 

" Gentlemen," replied the Regent, " it appears to me the dis- 
gi'ace consists in the crime, rather than in the punishment." 

The Prince de Ligne spoke with warmth: "I have in my 
genealogical standard," said he, "four escutcheons of Van 
Horn, and of course have four ancestors of that house. I must 
have them erased and effaced, and there would be so many 
blank spaces, like holes, in my heraldic ensigns. There is not 
a sovereign family which woiild not suffer, through the rigor 
of your Royal Highness; nay, all the world knows, that in the 
thirty-two quarterings of Madame, your mother, there is an 
escutcheon of Van Horn. " 

" Very well," replied the Regent, " I will share the disgrace 
with you, gentlemen." 

Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, the Cardinal 
de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi left the cabinet : but the 
Prince de Ligne and the Duke de Ha^n-e remained behind. 
The honor of their houses, more than the life of the unhappy 
Comit, was the great object of their solicitude. They now en- 
deavored to obtain a minor ^ace. They represented that in 



rSB COUNT VAN EOITN. i55 

the Netherlands, and in Germany, there was an important dif 
ference in the pubhc mind as to the mode of inflicting the pun- 
ishment of death upon persons of quality. That decapitation 
had no influence on the fortunes of the family of the executed, 
but that the punishment of the wheel was such an infamy, 
that the uncles, aunts, brothers, and sisters of the criminal, 
and his whole family, for three succeeding .generations, were 
excluded from all noble chapters, princely abbeys, sovereign 
bishoprics, and even Teutonic commanderies of the Order of 
Malta. They showed hov/ this would operate immediately 
upon the fortunes of a sister of the Count, who was on the 
point of being received as a canoness into one of the noble 
chapters. 

While this scene was going on in the cabinet of the Regent, 
the illustrious assemblage of petitieiaers remained in the hall of 
council, in the most gloomy state of suspense. The re-entrance 
from the cabinet of the Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de 
Crequi, with pale, downcast countenances, had struck a chill 
into every heart. Still they lingered until near midnight, to 
learn the result of the after application. At length the cabi- 
net conference was at an end. The Regent came forth, and sa- 
luted the high personages -^f the assemblage in a courtly man- 
ner. One old lady of quahty, Madame de Guyon, whom he 
had known in his infancy, he kissed on the cheek, calling her 
his "good aunt." He made a most ceremonious salutation to 
the stately J^Iarchioness de Crequi, telling her he was charmed 
to see her at the Palais Royal; " a compliment very ill-timed," 
said the Marchioness, ' ' considering the circumstance which 
brought me there. " He then conducted the ladies to the door 
of the second saloon, and there dismissed them, with the most 
ceremonious pohteness. 

The application of the Prince de Ligno and the Duke de 
Havre, for a change of the mode of punishment, had, after 
much difficulty, been successful. The Regent had promised 
solemnly to send a letter of commutation to the attorney-gen- 
eral on Holy Monday, the 25th of j\Iarch, at five o'clock in the 
morning. Accordhig to the same promise, a scaffold would be 
arranged in the cloister of the Conciergerie, or prison, wliere 
the Count would be beheaded on the same morning, imme- 
diately after having received absolution. This mitigation of 
the form of punisinnent gave but little consolation to the great 
body of petitioners, who had been anxious for the pardon of the 
youth ; it was looked upon as all-important, however, hj the 



156 WOLFERTS ROOST AND MISCELLANIES. 

Prince de Ligne, who, as has been before observed, was ex- 
quisitely aUve to the dignity of liis lamily. 

The Bishop of Bayeux and the Marquis de Crequi visited the 
unfortunate youth in prison. He had just received the com- 
munion in the chapel of the Conciergerie, and was kneeling 
before the altar, listening to a mass for the dead, which was 
peri'ormed at liis request. He protested his innocence of any 
intention to murder the Jew, but did not deign to allude to the 
accusation of robbeiy. He made the bishop and the Marquis 
promise to see his brother the prince, and inform him of this 
his dying asseveration. 

Two other of Ms relations, the Prince Rebecq-Montmorency 
and the Slarshal Van Isenghien, visited liim secretly, and of- 
fered liim poison, as a means of evading the disgrace of a public 
execution. On his refusing to take it, they left him with liigh 
indignation. " Miserable man I" said they, ''you are fit only to 
perish by the hand of the executioner !" 

The Marquis de Crequi sought the executioner of Paris, to 
bespeak an easy and decent death for the unfortunate youth. 
"Do not make him suffer," said he; " uncover no part of Mm 
but the neck ; and have his body placed in a coffin, before you 
deliver it to his family." The executioner proims-ed all that was 
requested, but declined a rouleau of a hundred louis-d'ors wMch 
the Marqui'? would have put into his hand. "I am paid by the 
king for fulfilling my office, " said he ; and added that he had 
already refused a lili:e sum, offered by another relation of the 
Marquis. 

The Marquis de Crequi returned home in a state of deep afflic- 
tion. There he found a letter from the Duke de St. Simon, the 
faimliar friend of the Regent, repeating the promise of that 
prince, that the pumshment of the wheel should be commuted 
to decapitation. 

"Imagine," says the Marchioness de Crequi, who in her 
memoirs gives a detailed account of this affair, " imagine what 
we experienced, and what was our astonishment, our grief, and 
indignation, when, on Tuesday, the 26th of March, an hour 
after midday, word was brought us that the Count Van Horn 
had been exposed on the wheel, in the Place de Greve, since 
half -past six in the morning, on the same scaffold with the 
Piedmontese de Mille, and that he had been tortured previous 
to execution 1" 

One more sce«ie of aristocratic pride closed this tragic story. 
The Marquis de Crequi, on receiving this astounding news, im- 



I 



THE COHTNT Y AN HORN, . 157 

mediately arrayed himself in the uniform of a general officer, 
with his cordon of nobility on the coat. He ordered six valets 
to attend him in gi-and livery, and two of his carriages, each 
with six horses, to be brought forth. In this sumptuous state, 
he set off for the Place de Greve, wheic he had been preceded 
by the Princes de Ligne, de Rohan, de Croiiy, and the Duke 
de Havre. 

The Count Van Horn was already dead, and it was believed 
that the executioner had had the charity to give him the coup 
de grace, or " death-blow," at eight o'clock in the morning. At 
five o'clock in the evening, when the Judge Commissary left 
hio post at the Hotel de Ville, these noblemen, with their own 
hands, aided to detach the mutilated remains of their relation ; 
the Marquis de Crequi placed them in one of his carriages, and 
bore them off to his hotel, to receive the last sad obsequies. 

The conduct of the Regent in this affair excited general 
indignation. His needless severity was attributed by some to 
vindictive jealousy ; by others to the persevering machinations 
of Law. The house of Van Horn, and the high nobility of 
Flanders and Germany, considered themselves fiagi-antly out- 
raged : many schemes of vengeance were talked of, and a hatred 
engendered against the Regent, that followed him through life, 
and was wreaked with bitterness upon his memory after his 
death. 

The following letter is said to have been written to the Regent 
by the Prince 'Van Horn, to whom the former had adjudged 
the confiscated effects of the Count : 

"I do not complain, Sii', of the death of my brother, but I 
complain that your Royal Highness has violated in his person 
the rights of the kingdom, the nobihty, and the nation, I thank 
you for the confiscation of his effects; but I should think my- 
self as much disgraced as he, should I accept any favor at your 
hands. I hope that God and the King may render to vou as 
strict justice as you have rendered to my unfortunate brother,'''' 



9 

-OK- 



BUMBLEPUPPY? 



Ten Lectures addressed to Children, 

By PEMBRIDGE. 

I vol., i2mo., cloth, limp, r 

Aho in Lovell's Library, No. i8i, 



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Somebody's Luggage, 
and Mrs. Lirrtper's 

Lodgings 10 

Godolpiiiu, Lytton 20 

Salma^imdi, Irving 20 

Famous Funny Fel- 
lows, Clemens 20 

Irish Sketches 20 

The Battle of Life 10 

Pilgrims of the Rhine .15 
Random Shots, Adeler .20 

Men's Wives 10 

Mystery of Edwin 

Drood, by Dickens. . . .20 
Reprinted Pieces from 

C, Dickens... 20 

Astoria, by W. Irving. .20 
Novels by Eminent 

Hands 10 

Spanish Voyages 20 

No Thoroughfare 10 

Character Sketches... .10 

Christmas Books 20 

A Tour on the Prairies ,10 
Ballads of Thackeray.. .15 
Yellowplush Papers. . . .10 
Life of Mahomet, P't I .l.'> 

Do., Part II 15 

Sketches and Travis 
in Loudon, Thack'ray .10 

Life of Goldsmith '-;0 

Capt. Bonneville 20 

Golden Girls, Alan Muir .20 
English Humorists ... .15 
Moorish Chronicles, . . .10 

Winifred Power 20 

Great Hoggarty Dia- 
mond If 

Pausanias, Lytton 15 

The New Abelard 20 

A Real Queen 20 

The Rose and the Ring .20 
Wolfert's Roost, Irving .10 
Mark Seaworth 20 



seaut MB irmvE food. 




Vitilized Phos-phites, 

COMPOSED OF THE NERVE-GIVING PRINCIPLES OF 
THE OX-BRAIN AND WHEAT-GERM. 

It restores the energy lost by Nervousness or Indigestion ; relieves 
Lassitude and Neuralgia; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excite- 
ment, or excessive brain fatigue ; strengthens a failing memory, and 
gives renewed vigor in all diseases of Nervous Exhaustion or Debility, 
it is the only PREVENTIVE FOR CONSUMPTION. 

It aids wonderfully in the mental and bodily growth of infants and 
children. Under its tise the teeth come easier., the bones grow better, the skin 
plumper and smoother; the brain acquires more readily, and rests amd sleeps 
more sweetly. An ill-fed brain lea/ms no lessons, and is excusdbie if peevish. 
It gives a happie/r and better childhood. 

** It is "writli the utmost confidence tliat I recommend this excellent pre- 
paration for the relief of indigestion and for general debility; nay, T do more 
than recommend, 1 really urge all invalids to put it to the test, for in sev- 
eral cases personally known to me signal benefits have been derived from 
its use, I have recently watched Its effects on a young friend who has 
Buffered from indigestion all her life. After taking the Vitalized Phos- 
phites for a fortnight she said to me; ' I feel another person; it is a pleas- 
ure to live.* Many hard-working men and women — especially those engaged 
in brain work — would be saved from the fatal resort to chloral and other 
destructive stimulants, if they would have recourse to a remedy so simple 
and so efficacious. " 

Emily Faithfull. 

Phtbicians have prescribed over 600,000 Packages bbcaubb thbt 
KMOw its Composition, that it is not a secret rbmbdt. awd 

THAT THE FORMULA 18 PRINTED ON EVERY LABEL 
For Sale \»y DrusTgrlsts or by ]lf all, #i. 

F. CE0SB7 CO., 664 and 666 Sixth Arenue, New York. 



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